After the Fire
by jmr27
Summary: Sam's psychic powers kick in early and he saves Jessica from the fire. This is Jessica's story as she recovers from the attack, learns about hunting and the plan the demon's have for Sam. Jessica has to determine what her place is in all this. Now, one decision can change everything. AU.
1. Memory of Fire

**Out of the Fire**

What would have happened if Sam was able to use his telekinetic powers to save Jessica from the fire?

This story was requested by Ormus45.

 **Chapter One: Memory of Fire**

Sam stared at his hands. They were the color of raw meat, cracked and blistered. It looked as if his skin were ready to melt away, drip to the gutter and slide into the drain. His gaze shifted to the black asphalt beneath his feet. Shifting blue, white and reds lights reflected off the shiny surface slick with water. Water showered the back of his neck, but there was no rain. The spray came from a hose attached to a fire hydrant and pointed at the window of his smoldering apartment.

A siren wailed to life, so close Sam could feel his ears vibrate. He looked up to see the red ambulance dart through the line of emergency personnel and around the corner. He only hoped they could drive fast enough.

He didn't know what he would do if she died.

He didn't really know how she had survived. The events of the evening were a blur, but that didn't bother Sam. He was used to it. The action in the middle of a fight never registered in the memory until later. There was no thought in those moments, only reflex, and the details were always a matter of guesswork. An assembly of moments connected by logic to fill in the blanks.

Sam remembered walking through the front door and the smell of cookies fresh in the air. He remembered the promising light from the bedroom, soft and welcoming. He had crashed on the bed, cookie in his mouth, utterly relaxed. Safe. Home.

Then the warm moisture on his head. The familiar smell of blood. He opened his eyes and there she was. Pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from her stomach, mouth open in a silent scream. It was a scene from his father's nightmares.

That was where the memory blurred, adrenaline dimming his hindsight. He remembered the panic tugging at his gut, and the rush of energy that came with desperation. He had jumped, arms that had always been too long suddenly too short. Flames blossomed around Jessica, and Sam fell backwards. He knew he fell, but somehow he had _pulled_ as well. He didn't know how, it was like flexing a muscle that shouldn't have been there. Sharp pain split his head, and then she was in his arms and Dean's arms were around his shoulders. He held Jess tight to his chest and felt her warm blood spill across his shirt while Dean shoved him hard through the door, down the stairs, into fresh air.

He held her there on the curb, held her guts inside her belly until the paramedics arrived with a stretcher, an IV, and bandages. They wrapped her up and carried her away and now she was gone.

He knew how fast a wound like that would bleed. She had been unconscious before they were out the door. Would she even make it to the hospital?

Sam moved to wrap his arms around his chest, but strong hands caught his and he hissed in pain.

"Easy, Sammy, easy." Dean's voice was gentle, calming. "Second ambulance is on its way. You'll get the good pain meds this time."

Something cool and slimy moved over the ruined skin. Sam stared; a green plant stem, cut in half, full of goo. He raised his eyes to see his brother hunched over his hand. A woman in a colorful robe stood nearby, cutting stems off of plant with fat, cactus-like limbs. Sam's fought for the right word; he knew what this was. Aloe. Good for burns.

"Dean." His voice was sharp with pain.

"I know it hurts, Sam, but this will help. I can hear the sirens coming. You'll have a real doctor soon."

Sam shook his head. "No, that's not-"

"Hey." Dean dropped the aloe and gripped his shoulder tight enough to leave a bruise. "I've got you. You're gonna be ok."

"Jess-"

"I know. She was still alive when they left. We couldn't do anything more. Let the doctors do their job. We'll be there when she wakes up after surgery."

Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder. "That's our ride." Dean put the aloe plant aside and flagged the paramedics down. He put a hand under Sam's arm and pulled him to his feet. "We need help over here! This man needs a hospital."

Hospital. Sam shook his head and pulled away. "No, Dean. We have to find this thing. If it came after Jess, it could try again."

"I know." Dean's voice was tight, and he refused to let go of Sam's arm. "But you can't shoot, Sammy, not with those paws. We can't investigate the apartment, not while it's as hot as a frying pan. Jessica's at the hospital, and that's where you need to be."

The paramedics burst out of the ambulance and came toward them at a jog. They stopped when they saw Sam on his feet, and Dean pointed to the hands. "I was just telling my brother here he gets all the bells and whistles. One way, non-stop, fast as you can go. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir." The paramedic's answer was brisk, her face impassive as she took in the damaged flesh. She didn't touch Sam's hands, just gestured to the back of the ambulance, where the doors open and waiting. "Right this way. Are you riding along?"

Dean cast a glance at Sam, then back at his car. Police were circling the scene. Dean squeezed Sam's arm, and let go. "I'll follow."

Sam allowed himself to be passed from brother to paramedic and loaded into the back of the ambulance. There was conversation floating around him. Words like 3rd-degree, morphine, and skin grafts. They had no meaning. Sam stared out the window at the charred walls that had once been his apartment.

Gone. Everything was gone in the space of half an hour.

The ambulance jerked into motion, and Sam felt his body sway as they rounded a corner. The sirens started again, an urgent, pleading wail that pulsed through his ears. It continued all the way to Palo Alto General Hospital.

 _Please don't be dead. Please, say I wasn't too late. Please, Jess. Don't be dead._

o0o

Details. The fine art of hunting was always in the details. Bobby Singer had taught the Winchester brothers to track in the forest, and because of it Dean knew a lot more about plants, mud, and animal prints than the person who wrote the nature guide book. He knew where animals made their dens, where they ate, where they drank, and what time of day the moved about. Animals were simple creatures. They stuck to the same habits.

So did monsters. Vengeful spirits, werewolves, it didn't matter. They all had rules, and they played by them without fail. He could see a kill, and name the monster. They killed the same victims, in the same way, at the same time, every time.

Some were less specific than others. Werewolves ate hearts. Kitsune ate brains. Well, glands in the brain, but was there really a difference? Spirits didn't eat at all, but they wrecked the bodies those they killed, leaving some kind of a mark. Chains around the wrists or a gash in the throat always pointed the way. Often, Dean might have to go through records with a fine-tooth comb to find the pattern that fit, but it was always there.

Gutted and pinned to a ceiling before being immolated was about as specific a mark as Dean had ever seen. He didn't know what had done it. He didn't know why.

Same date. Same time. Same place; Sammy's bedroom.

 _Sammy's bedroom_.

That was the detail that Dean couldn't shake. The fire in '83 had occurred in a baby's bedroom. A monster that went after babies and killed the mother if she got in the way. Or that lay in wait in nurseries, just to kill the mother. It had been following a pattern laid out by its kind. No specific targets, just monster and prey.

But this had happened to Sam twice. It suggested something Dean had never seen in a monster before. It suggest complex thought. It suggested an ability to break the rules. It suggested a specific target.

Why would a monster target Sam twenty-two years apart? It didn't track with anything Dean knew about the things he hunted. He stared at his phone and the long list of calls to his father. No new messages in his inbox. No missed calls.

Why would Dad vanish now? Why wouldn't he respond to this?

Dean shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair and fingered the amulet hanging from his neck. Sammy. What would have happened if Dean had not been there tonight? The words of Dad's last message echoed in his mind. _We're all in danger_. And the part he hadn't let Sam hear. _Go to your brother and get him out of Palo Alto_.

He had been so focused on his brother, he hadn't given a second thought to the girlfriend. Jessica. The girl whose aunts and cousins made casseroles and cookies last time Sam was in the hospital. The girl whose relatives had accepted Sam as one of their own. They had taken Sam into their own family, and Dean couldn't help but love them. They cared for his brother. They gave him the home he had always wanted.

Because life on the road had never been good enough. Because the Winchester family had never been good enough for Sam.

Dean hated that Sam had left him behind. Dean was angry at his brother for wanting a different life. But Dean couldn't be mad at Sam for loving this girl. Jessica Moore was everything Dean could hope for his brother. Which was why he hadn't shoved Sam out the door yet, why they were waiting here in the ER even though Sam's hands had been bandaged hours ago.

"Dean?" Sam stood in the doorway, face pale. His chest was bare, the shirt cut off and tossed in the trash by the ER staff. His chest was covered in bandages and his hands encased in gauze mittens. Sam hadn't been caught in the fire, but Jessica had, and Sam had put out the flames that ate at her clothing with his own body. They were lucky the burns weren't too severe, but they would still take weeks to heal. Sam would have permanent scars, but it wasn't Sam's hands that Dean was worried about right now. It was his eyes. They still burned with the memory of the fire. Etched into the retina, the flames consumed everything he saw.

Dean had seen that look once before on his father's face. It made the small four-year-old huddled in a forgotten corner of his mind quiver with fear. The last time he saw that look, he had lost his father. Gone was the man who played football and gave bedtime tickles, who read Curious George and loved to fix cars. In his place had been a man who could never put his gun down, could never stop driving, stop killing, stop searching for the thing that killed the woman he loved.

The memory of that fire clouded every second of John's life. It was only in Sam that Dean had found relief from the flames. Sam had no memory of the fire. He still smiled, still laughed, still played. Sam's innocence had been Dean's refuge. Even after Sam learned about monsters, about hunting, he still had a freedom that neither John nor Dean possessed. He was free of the memory of that night in his nursery.

Until now. The look in Sam's eye was the mirror image of the raw rage and pain that had looked at Dean from his father's eyes every day of his life.

Every day until today. Today, John was absent. Today, the man who always called no matter what happened couldn't be bothered to answer his phone. Now, there was only an empty stretch of silence and the worn old journal cradled in Dean's hands. His voice mail message might as well be shouted at the wind. His father was gone, and now John's obsession stared at him out of Sam's eyes.

"Any news yet?"

Sam perched on the edge of his bed and shook his head. "No. She's still in surgery."

Dean nodded. "Alright. So we wait. Are those painkillers working?" Dean rattled the bottle he had collected from the pharmacy. He intended to make sure Sam took every last one on schedule. He didn't need more pain, not today.

Sam just shrugged. His mind was somewhere else, lost in flame. Dean could see the wheels turning, lines of logic falling into place until only one conclusion remained. There was only one conclusion here. "Dean, what happened? That was just like how Mom died. Down to the last detail. Same date, same time. Do you think-do you think this had something to do with me?"

"No, Sam. How could this have anything to do with you?" Dean knew the truth was not the answer Sam needed right now.

"It was my room, over my bed-it just-it seems-" There were more words on the edge of his tongue, but Sam just shook his head. He stilled, and glared at the wall. "We have to find this thing. We have to kill it."

"We can't get into the apartment until it's cooled off. They may not even have the fire out yet."

"Yeah, but this is our chance, Dean. We know it's nearby. We have to find it."

"Right. Ok." Dean tossed the pill bottle at Sam, and watched his brother fumble to catch the small plastic tube in his gauze-mittens. The pills fell to the ground with a clatter, and Sam let out a hiss of frustration. "Sammy, you can't carry a gun, much less shoot. You're not going anywhere tonight."

o0o

The world was a haze, a mix of memory and white that faded in and out and blurred together. Jess floated somewhere in between, uncertain as to what was real, what was a memory, and what a dream. A hospital room filled with beeping monitors and blurry faces slowly swam into view, but fire crackled at the edges.

It had attacked her flesh, hot and sharp, the smell of charred meat and an agony that lanced through her entire body. She was numb now. A tube ran from her arm to a saline bag, and something made out of opiates must be flowing freely. She could feel the bandages on her back and the stiffness in her belly. She had been attacked from behind, and in front.

Brady had driven the knife home. She must remember that. If every other detail were lost, she must remember that name. They would ask, she knew. They would go to arrest him and put him in jail so he could not do this to anyone else ever again.

No. Wait. That was wrong. The police could not arrest him because Brady was not Brady. The flash of black in his eyes had given it away. She had not been betrayed; her friend had been possessed. All so that Sam Winchester would suffer.

"Sam." Jess whispered the name, and instantly there was a hand in hers.

"I'm here, sweetie." The voice was warm, soft, familiar. Her mother hovered over the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Sam." Jess whispered again. She shifted, but her limbs were not working. She lay perched on her side, the only part of her not hurt. Jess squeezed the hand that held hers. "Where is he? Is he alright?"

He had reached for her, reached into the flames to save her. The last thing she remembered was being held in his arms.

Jess lifted her head, but her mother placed a hand on her neck. "Shhh, it's alright. He's alright. He saved you. He only had a few burns." Sandy turned away and exchanged words with another. Dad? He gave a short shake of his head and came to hover near his wife's shoulder.

"He's hovering in the hallway, but he won't come in. I think he blames himself."

Jess closed her eyes and let out a soft laugh. Even that made it feel as if the fire had blossomed across her back again. "Stupid. Please. I need to see him."

"He's just pacing the hall. He should come in before he wears a hole in it." Her sister Jenna was here too. "I'll get him. Hey Sam! Jess says you're an idiot. Get your ass in here!"

The weight on the bed shifted. The people in her vision swam out of view. Then Sam was there, his head bent over her hand, his hand stroking her hair. She could feel the absence, her blonde mane gone. But he ran his fingers through the charred ends and cried into her palm.

"I'm sorry, Jess. I should never have-I'm so sorry." He knew more than he said. He held secrets he couldn't share in front of her family. Secrets he thought she didn't know.

It seemed the time had come to talk about that.

"Shhh." Jess lifted her thumb to wipe his cheek. "Can't take it back. I wouldn't let you if you tried. You're mine, Sam Winchester."

"The doctor's say you'll be ok, Jess. I promise this won't happen again. You'll be ok."

 _You can't change the way the world turns, Sam_. There was more to say, but all she could do was squeeze his hand and let the world fade away again. There was no need to fight against sleep. She was alive, and Sam was by her side. The rest could wait.

o0o

What do you think? Is anyone interested in reading more? Please leave a review.


	2. When Dreams Come True

**Chapter Two: When Dreams Come True**

 _She'll be ok_.

Sam clung to the words. They were all he had right now. His apartment was gone. His belongings were ash. His homework had vanished in smoke. His life was gone, the foundations ripped from under him in a moment. In the moment he saw Jessica on the ceiling. In the moment he had reached for her and pulled with something other than his arms. He hadn't been able to reach her, but he had yanked her off the ceiling. Both could not be true at the same time, and yet they were.

Sam stared at his bandaged hands. Something had happened in that fire, something that he could not explain.

He wanted the familiar comfort of a gun barrel in his palms. He wanted the drive and focus of the hunt. He wanted a monster to kill, because that would be easy. If he had a monster to kill, he wouldn't have time to think about what had happened in that apartment.

Except he didn't want to kill. He wanted to be done with that life forever. Right? It had all come back to him to so easily these past few days. He had felt as if he never left. Riding with his brother, tracking down a monster, the satisfaction of ganking a ghost, it had felt good. When Dean asked him to come with him, a small part of Sam wanted to stay.

Only a small part. Only the part of him that was still a lost, homesick kid unsure if he would ever fit in. That kid was just a memory. Sam had built a life here. He had friends, he hoped to have a family. He had the ring in his pocket right now. It had been in his pocket the entire trip to Jericho, a potent reminder of everything he had to come back to.

A reminder of everything he had almost lost. A nightmare come true.

Nightmares don't come true. Yesterday, Sam would have said so without hesitation. Today, he knew that was a lie. Nightmares could come true. This one had, right before his eyes.

Sam had done a lot of research on recurring dreams in the past month. The only conclusion he had reached was that no one was sure why they happened. Some thought it had to do with the subconscious. Some thought it had to do with psychic powers. There were about a hundred wild theories in between, none of them helpful. Sam had tried to move on, tried to ignore it. He told himself it was just nerves. He was planning to propose as the anniversary of his mother's death approached, so he dreamed of his would-be-fiancee dying exactly as his mother had. It was just a dream.

Last night, his dream had come true.

What did that mean?

Sam fumbled at the vending machine with his gauze-covered fingers, and carefully removed the cup of coffee. The heat seeped through his bandages, making his hands itch. He stared at the black brew, but there were no answers there.

"Sam." Dean's voice called Sam out of his thoughts and back to the present. His big brother held a stack of clothing in his hands, price-tags still dangling from the fabric. Everything Sam had was gone, except for the clothes on his back and the wallet in his pocket.

The wallet with the phone number for the insurance policy the landlord had insisted they purchase upon signing the lease. The policy would pay to replace everything he and Jess owned. Depending on how well Jessica recovered, she could still complete her courses this semester. Sam certainly would be able to complete his. He had lost a few possessions, but everything that mattered was still there.

He had his girl, he would have his degree, he had a shot at a great career. His dreams, the dreams had carried all his life-not that nasty nightmare-his dreams could still come true.

Sam stared at his watch, suddenly transfixed by the tiny numbers there. Today was November 3. The time was 1:30 pm.

His best shot at his dreams was the interview which could get him admission and a scholarship to law school that was scheduled for 2 pm today.

Two o'clock. Today.

Sam snatched the clothes out of Dean's hands. The cup of coffee tumbled to the floor, and Dean jumped back to avoid being splashed.

"Hey. What the-Sam! Are you ok?"

Sam bundled the clothes under his arm. Jeans and a green shirt. At least it wasn't flannel. He should wear something better than jeans, but he didn't have time. The trek across town would take twenty minutes. Sam ran for the bathroom, heart pounding. He had just enough time.

"Hey!" Dean's hand caught his arm, and he spun his little brother around to face him. His eyes bored into Sam, the way they always had when Dean knew Sam wasn't telling the whole truth. "What's going on?"

"My interview. It's in half an hour. I have to change and get across town-" Realization lit Sam's eyes. "You have a car."

"Yes, I do. What interview? That thing for law school?"

Sam nodded, pulling Dean with him toward the bathroom. "Yes, it's in half an hour and I need a ride."

"No!" Dean's answer was immediate and firm. "Sam, you can't go-"

"The doctors released me last night." They were only still here because of Jessica. "I can go. I have to go."

"Sam, you just escaped a fire. Your girlfriend is hurt. You're still on some pretty strong pain meds, and you need to heal. You can't go to that interview today."

"I need this!" Sam pulled away from his brother. "Look, I don't expect you to understand, but-" He glanced at his watch. Precious seconds were ticking by. "You know what? Forget it." Sam turned away. Dean moved to follow him, but Sam glared at his big brother. "Can I pee and change clothes without a chaperone?"

Dean raised his hands in a gesture of peace and stepped back. Sam ducked into the bathroom, mind still churning. No Impala? No problem. He would find another way.

o0o

The hospital was a happy place. At least it had been for Brian Moore. He had only been to the hospital twice in his life; when his wife gave birth to his daughters. The small, squirming bundles had changed his life in more ways than he could imagine, all for the better. So for Brian Moore, the hospital was a place of celebration.

Until today. Today, Brian once again sat in the hospital but he did not celebrate. He watched over his daughter's sleeping form. Waiting for her to wake again. Wondering what her recovery would look like. Hoping she would be ok.

Jessica would live. The doctors said there was no danger, but they could not say how deep the scarring on her back and around her face would be. They could not testify to her state of mind, having nearly been burned alive. They only said that it would be several weeks before she could go home and several months more after that of therapy and careful treatment before she could return to anything resembling a normal life.

Jessica's mother, Sandy, was dozing by the window and Jenna was in the hallway making calls to friends and family to share the news. She was his wild child, the one who had gotten a fake ID at seventeen to go drinking, who preferred to kick butt and martial arts than take ballet with her big sister, who had insisted on a summer trip to explore Europe before being confined to study for another four years at college. Most people would not have described Jenna as reliable or sensitive. But she had come through this weekend, taking care of everything that her parents needed while they watched over her sister.

She had even refrained from teasing Sam. Who wasn't here.

Brian frowned. Sam had been hovering ever since Jessica asked for him. At first, he could not be persuaded to enter her room. But when she called his name he came to her side and refused to move until his brother insisted on finding food and new clothes.

That had been twenty minutes ago. It might be time to go check-

"Have you seen Sam?"

Brian looked up to see the brother, Dean, looming in the doorway. Dean had been lurking behind Sam ever since they arrived at the hospital. His protective glare declared that anyone who tried to cause his brother harm would have to deal with him. He had fetched medicine, food, water, whatever was needed to keep Sam going. None of the Moore's had slept since the fire, but neither had Dean.

With a glance at his wife and daughter, Brian stepped out into the hall to take the conversation away from Jessica. She looked asleep, but he wasn't positive she wouldn't be listening.

"Sam? No. I thought he was with you. You got him some new clothes."

"Yeah, I did that. He went to change and now I can't find him." Dean's voice was a mix of fear and aggravation. He grimaced, as if the knew the answer to his own question before he had even asked. "He was going on about an interview."

Brian blinked. He was well aware of Sam's interview for admission to law school and an accompanying scholarship. Jess had told him everything, and she had been so excited and so proud. Also, she had been relived. Sam's high LSAT score meant he had a good shot at the scholarship, and that scholarship meant their work over the next four years would not be so hard. The interview was important to both of them.

It could also be rescheduled. Brian knew schools like this were tough on admission policies, but certainly a house fire and an ER visit the night before was good cause for a re-do.

If Sam was thinking clearly enough to ask. Brian had only know Sam for a little over a year, but he felt he had a good insight into the young man's character. Sam had a tendency to get tunnel vision when he was stressed, upset, or frustrated. Today, Brian imagined Sam was all three. He was just stubborn enough to walk all the way across town to make that interview.

"Where's this interview at?" Dean demanded.

Brian fished his keys out of his pocket. "Come on, I'll show you."

Brian drove as slowly as he could. Dean rode with his face hanging out the window, searching the sidewalks for Sam as if his brother were a lost puppy instead of a grown man. Brian took the route he thought someone would be most likely to walk, hopeful they would catch up to Sam. No such luck. Of course, Brian did not know his way around Palo Alto very well.

At least he knew his way to campus and the admission office where interviews would take place. He had brought Jessica here himself several years ago.

The office was empty except for the student worker sitting at the reception desk. Dean scanned the empty chairs of the waiting room with a warning glare, as if they were somehow responsible for the lack of Sam. "You're sure this is the right place?"

"Easy." Brian put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We drove. He either walked or called for a different ride." Sam had several friends who would be wiling to oblige. At least three of them had already stopped by the hospital to check on their friend and offer help when it was needed.

"Right." Dean marched over to the door to look out down the sidewalk, then stalked up to the reception desk. "Does Sam Winchester have an appointment here today?"

The student behind the desk looked up with a gulp. "I-um-I can't give you that information sir."

"That's alright." Brian stepped between Dean and the desk attendant. "Can we speak with the person in charge of interviews? I have some information about her 2 o'clock interview. I'm his father-in-law, and there's been a family emergency."

At the term father-in-law, Dean's head snapped around to stare at Brian. Brian touched a finger to his lips. Legal family ties always made more headway than "my daughter is very likely to marry that boy soon but no we're not actually related."

The student nodded, then shook her head. "I'll check, we've got several scheduled today so she may be busy."

After a brief conference on the phone, a woman in a suit emerged from the doorway behind the reception desk. "Mr. Moore, I hear you have some important information for us about my 2 o'clock interview?" She tapped her watch. "It's two minutes to two, I think that's a little late to reschedule."

"I'm here!" Sam burst through the front door, wincing as his bandaged hands banged against the door handle. His face was flushed and the price-tags still dangled from his clothing. He spotted the clock, and smiled. "Right on time." He sucked in a deep breath and swiped a line of sweat off his forehead. "Mrs. Harmon."

Mrs. Harmon's eyes traveled up and down Sam's figure, taking in the price-tags, the bandages, and the swath of shaved hair where the fire had singed his scalp. "Mr. Winchester, I hear there's been a family emergency?"

"Yes, Sam. I came here to ask Mrs. Harmon if your circumstances would qualify to postpone the interview," Brian said.

Sam blinked. "Postpone? Is that possible?"

"Let's ask," Brian said smoothly and turned back to the stern-faced woman. "Sam's home had a fire last night, everything was destroyed and Sam and my daughter were both rushed to the ER around midnight. My daughter is still in ICU, Sam sustained second-degree burns saving her life, and everything they own is gone. I suggested it would be appropriate to ask to reschedule the interview. Was I wrong?"

"No." Mrs. Harmon showed little sign of emotion, but her answer was swift and without malice. "No, please attend to your medical needs first, Mr. Winchester. I will email you to reschedule."

Sam's sigh of relief was audible. "Thank you, ma'am. That's a big help." He held out a hand to shake, stared at his bandages for a moment, then pulled it back. "I'll be ready next time."

Mrs. Harmon nodded. "I am sure you will. Look for my email."

Brian hooked his hand under Sam's elbow and guided the young man out the door. Dean followed after, his brow furrowed as if he wasn't sure what had just happened. As if he had lost something, and hadn't realized it until now.

Sam paused at the car, and looked over at Brian with a grateful smile. "Thanks. I made it here, but-" The interview would not have gone well, not today.

"That what family is for."

Dean's scowl deepened. Brian didn't care if the brother was jealous. Sam was part of the Moore family now, and Dean would have to accept that.

o0o

 _I'll be ok_.

The thought surprised Sam, but he as he settled into his bed he knew it was true. He had started this day-yesterday? He wasn't sure, there hadn't been time for much sleep last night. He had thought for a brief but eternal moment that everything was lost. His lover might be dead. His chances at law school might be over. His dreams of a normal life, a happy wife, a house that was really a home-they had all seemed to die in that fire.

One by one, each of his fears had proved to be untrue. Jessica had called for him. Dean helped him call the insurance company to replace his possessions. Brian had helped his rescheduled his interview and talk to his professors about due date extensions so he could finish the semester and not lose his scholarship. Friends came by to offer a place to stay, to run errands, or just to sit with Jessica.

One by one, every person in Sam's life had stepped up to offer a helping hand. He felt bad asking so much of all of them. But the truth was he hadn't asked: he hadn't needed to. They had offered before he even knew what he needed.

Now he was in a clean bed in a nice hotel, paid for by the Moores who insisted Sam not sleep on a friend's floor until he was fully recovered. Dean was on the bed beside him, watching something cheesy on the TV but the sound turned down. A rare concession to Sam's need for sleep. He had refused to leave. After Sam had been ready to walk away, again, Dean had come back and he had stayed. Somehow, he had come at just the right time.

The dreams, Dean's arrival, the miracle of Jess falling from the ceiling at just the right time. It was all tied together somehow. Was there a higher power looking out for him? Sam knew better than to mention the idea to his brother, but he sent up a simple prayer of thanks before lying back in the bed.

It was barely seven o'clock and the sun was just beginning to set. On a day like today, time was irrelevant. Sam had been awake since Saturday. Today was Monday. Sleep came as soon as Sam's head hit the pillow. Darkness gave way to a dream that felt sharp and real as anything that happened in the waking world.

He was back in the hospital. Jessica's room was dark, the window covered and the lights turned off. The only illumination was from the glow of the monitors that would warn if anything went wrong.

Except something was already wrong. Jessica's eyes were open wide, her head shaking, a tear trickling down her cheek. On the screen at her bedside the heart monitor began to race but no sound came out. A figure loomed over the bed, face distorted in the shadows. A hand ripped back the covers and a knife plunged deep into the freshly stitched wound in Jessica's abdomen. She bucked and flailed, but the supports meant to keep her from rolling onto her burned back also prevented her from fighting her attacker. A hand landed on her mouth, cutting off her scream.

The attacker raised the knife again and covered his hands in blood. Sam wanted to shout, wanted to run in to help, but he could not move. He had no body, no breath. He watched the scene as if in a theater, not really there but unable to leave.

Blood covered the walls, drenched fingers formed words. The figure stepped back to survey his work with a chuckle. _You're next._ The letters dripped, the blood still fresh. In the bed, Jessica whimpered, then was quiet. The figure turned, and Sam saw eyes filled with black.

It felt like a machete had split his head in two. The sharp pain sent a wave of nausea through him, and he rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach in one hand and his head in the other. Dean was kneeling next to him a moment later, catching him by the shoulders and offering a glass of water.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

"We have to go." Sam hauled himself out of the bed, every muscle aching in protest. His hands felt like they were on fire, the singed skin on his scalp and shoulders throbbing and swollen. Sam fumbled for the keys to the car. Dean snatched them up.

"Go where?"

"The hospital." A dream had come true once this week. It couldn't happen again. He wouldn't let it happen again.

 _I'm not a psychic. It was just a dream._

 _What if it isn't?_ He wasn't willing to take that chance.

"Hospital? Ok." Dean jumped into motion, pulling on his boots and grabbing his jacket. Sam shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering to try to tie the laces. He grabbed the bag of weapons Dean always kept with him.

"Hey!" Dean reached out and put a hand on the bag. "What's going on, Sam?" His grip on the bag held them both in place, refusing to move until some part of this made sense.

"The thing that did this coming back for Jess."

Dean's eyes flicked to the bed where his brother had been sound asleep moments before, then back to Sam. "How do you know that?"

"We don't have time, Dean. If I'm wrong, nothing happens. If I'm right, we save her life."

"Ok." Dean took the weapons bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "But you're explaining this later."

o0o

It was too easy. The right face and a few kind words were all it took.

Humans were so simple. They didn't think to look beyond what they saw. They didn't think to question what was in front of them. They didn't see the shadows hidden behind the eyes.

The girl was lying in her hospital bed, all patched up as if she were going home soon. As if she hadn't been dead the day Brady introduced her to Sam.

Brady paused in the doorway of the hospital room. No, his name wasn't really Brady but he liked to identify with the meat-suit he'd taken over. It avoided confusion: those embarrassing moments where someone tried to talk to him but he'd forgotten his own name.

The mother, Sandy Moore, lifted her face to him with a relieved smile. How nice to see Jessica's friends coming to visit! She came over with arms open wide for a hug. Brady obliged, summoning up a few tears to his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Moore. You sure look tired. Do you need anything? I can sit with Jess while you make a coffee run."

It wasn't hard to coax the woman out of the room. Jessica was safe, the doctors had declared she would recover. The rest of the Moore family had gone to the hotel. There was no reason Sandy couldn't take a short break, get some food and use the toilet. Just a few minutes to take care of herself.

A few minutes were all he would need.

Jessica stirred as the door slid shut with a click. Her eyes flickered, then opened wide in recognition. "You!" She struggled to move, to rise form the bed, to run away. Brady flicked the button that controlled the sound on her monitors, then dropped a hand down to cover her mouth before she could summon a scream. She twisted underneath him, but there wasn't much strength left in her.

There shouldn't be any left at all.

"You should be dead." Brady clicked his tongue, as if talking to a naughty child. "How did you make it out of there, my dear? Ah, well. The whole fire thing was the boss's idea. Not really my style. This time, I get to choose." Brady smiled, a sharp, cold grin that lit up his entire face. "I could smother you with a pillow. Put poison in your IV. Snap your neck. So many options. Opinion?"

Brady frowned. Something was wrong. His victim wasn't nearly terrified enough. Her heartbeat had slowed again, and there was a hind of hope in her eyes. Her head tilted, as if listening. There were loud voices in the hallway, stomping footsteps, and then the door crashed open.

"Get away from her!"

Brady heard the shotguns snap into place before he turned to see the brothers Winchester posed side-by-side in the doorway. Brady stared down the twin sawed-off muzzles, and laughed. He let his eyes flashed black, and both brothers gave a satisfying flinch.

Twenty years of hunting, and they had never seen a demon before. Brady chuckled. It was too easy. "You think those can hurt me?"

Sam's mouth hung open as if he had been kicked. "Brady?"

With a flick of his hand, Brady sent the guns flying in one direction and the brothers in the other. The firearms landed in the corner with a clatter, but the brothers remained pinned to the wall. Stuck like bugs on a child's entomology project.

He was free to carry on with his fun, but a stray thought made him pause. This didn't add up. Brady stepped closer to Sam, squinting at his fellow college-buddy. Sam Winchester should be asleep in his bed right now.

"What are you doing here?"

Sam had the scrunched-face of a man straining, his muscled clenched but unable to move. His mouth worked just fine, though. "Stopping you. Whatever you are. What did you do to Brady?"

Brady held up a hand and waggled his fingers. "Oh, Brady is still in here. Somewhere. Probably. Maybe. I never pay much attention, really. The body is mine now, all mine. Just like Jessica."

Sam let out a growl, and Brady laughed. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm not going to wear her. Just kill her. Far more fun. But with so many people around it would have to be quick. Painless. Otherwise someone would notice." Brady gestured to the hospital corridor outside. The mother was back and banging on the door, but Brady held it closed with a simple thought.

"What do you want with her?" Sam demanded.

"What did you want with our mom?" This from the other brother. Dean.

Brady raised an eyebrow and turned to take in the second Winchester. The one that wasn't supposed to be here. "Your mother? I didn't want anything with her. That wasn't me."

Dean's jaw clenched. Brady could see his hope shatter. No, there would be no revenge for him tonight.

"What are you?"

"Hehehehe!" Brady had to hold his sides he was laughing so hard. "You don't know? Daddy hasn't told you? Oh, Dean. Does it matter? I'm going to give you what you want. I'm going to kill that pretty girl over there, and Sammy's going to go hunting with you."

"What?" Such a gift, but Dean didn't sound happy.

"No!" Sam yelled. His head and shoulders pulled away from the wall for a brief moment.

Brady felt his stomach do a flip. That wasn't supposed to happen. The kid wasn't supposed to have any spiffy tricks yet. But Brady could feel it, the harsh echo of Azazel's power pushing against his own. Sam was tapping into it even though he didn't know it existed.

They said the special kids could do anything. Might even be able to kill a demon.

Maybe this little chat wasn't such a good idea. Brady threw a blast of power at Sam, slamming him back into the wall, and turned his attention back to the bed.

It was empty. Jessica had crawled to the corner, IV tubes trailing behind her. Her fingers were wrapped around one of the shotguns, the barrel pointed at Brady.

He shook his head, laughing again. "What do you think that is going to do?"

Jessica's eyes flashed, and the gun fired with a roar. Tiny shards of something _sharp_ pelted Brady's chest. It was like being stabbed with a hundred hot pokers.

No, the hot pokers were worse. Brady knew from experience.

He staggered, a hand on his chest, but didn't waver on his feet. He stared down at his pock-marked shirt. "Salt? Rock salt? Winchester, I'm impressed. Ohh, that burns." Brady brushed the salt off his front and gave Jessica a respectful nod. "Nice try."

Jessica's eyes narrowed, and she readjusted her grip on the gun. The better to beat him with it. Brady advanced.

"Jess!" Sam's cry was fierce and he had torn himself from the wall again. He was on his knees, pushing against the invisible demonic force like a man walking into the wind.

 _Shit!_

"Don't you dare touch her!" Sam couldn't move, so he used the only weapon he had left. "If you hurt her, I will never stop until I find you and kill you."

Brady had heard desperate words before. Most men couldn't follow-through.

Sam Winchester could and would.

If Jessica died today, Brady was a dead man. Demon. Whatever.

Brady had no desire to be dead. Again. The first time had been bad enough. He was loyal, sure, but for a reason. He wanted to be on top when this all went down. He had a job to do, a Hellish new world to help create, and plans for a big, big party when all of humanity finally went up in flames. Death was not in the plan. Death had to be avoided at all costs. Death stared at him from Sam Winchester's face. Death was certain if Azazel didn't get his way.

Think, think, think! There had to be a way out of this. Can't kill the Winchester. Have to kill the girl.

No. That wasn't the plan. The girl was just motivation. She could serve that purpose alive as well as dead. The boss just wanted Winchester on the road. That was the deal.

And demons were good at deals.

Brady spread his lips in a sharky grin, showing all his teeth in his best impersonation of a used-car-salesman. That was how the crossroads crowd did things, right?

"You want the girl to live, you've got to pay the price." His tone was smooth, chill. As if he wasn't worried at all. As if everything were going exactly the way he had planned.

It was plan C, but it was still a plan.

"Sam! Don't listen to him." Dean was still stuck solidly to the wall, but that didn't stop him throwing his two cents in.

Brady crouched down next to Sam, black filling his eyes. Sam flinched as Brady's hand landed on his shoulder. Brady's grin widened. "Look, buddy. You went off script and now we've got to get you back on track. That's what this whole this is about. You aren't supposed to be here in this sunny piece of paradise. It's not good for you. You need to be on the road. Hunting."

"Why do you care?"

Brady shrugged. "The question is, why don't you? Your poor mommy's dead. Your girl's going to join her if you don't shape up. Look, Sam, I'm just the messenger. None of this was my idea. But if you leave here right now, you can have what you want."

"What I want? I don't want to hunt."

"Sure you do. You can't stay here. You've lost everything you ever worked for. The only thing you have left is a chance to save your girlfriend's life." Brady pointed to Jessica. She was leaning against the side of the couch, head drooping, shotgun slowly drifting to the floor. The one burst of adrenaline that had gotten her out of bed was already taking its toll. "You stay, she dies. It's not up to me. I wish it was, but it isn't. You stop me today, someone tries again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day."

"I'll stop them all!" He sounded so sure. Sam wasn't that good at thinking clearly when he was emotional. Brady rolled his eyes. He had to spell it out.

"Ok, maybe you do. So they go after your friends. They go after little sister and Mommy dearest." Brady's eyes flicked to the door where Sandy Moore and what sounded like five staff were kicking at the other side. "Someone's gonna die, Sam. You can't keep them all safe. But if you leave, I leave. Everyone is safe."

"Why?" Dean's eyes were fixed on Brady. "Why do you want him to hunt?"

Brady shrugged. "No idea. Like I said, I'm just the messenger."

The banging at the door was getting louder. Time to go. Brady gave Sam's shoulder one last squeeze. "Think about it."

The demon threw back his head and vomited black smoke into the air. He shot out the window as fast as he could move. Dean Winchester chased him all the way, nearly jumped out after him. But the demon darted high into the sky, where no one could catch him and no one could follow. He had things to do, other people to torment. Other dreams to shatter.

o0o

Please review!


	3. Gone

**Chapter Three: Gone**

"I'm sorry, Sam." Brady's tone was mournful, and he hung his head in shame. Once casually confident and carefree, Brady hadn't looked anyone in the eye all week.

Had it only been a week since his life burned down?

"Hey, it's ok." Sam clenched his fists under the table, but he kept his tone soft. Brady had been possessed. He hadn't been in control of his own body.

Apparently, that's how demons worked.

Twenty years Sam had lived on the road watching his father hunt, learning from him whether he wanted to or not. In twenty years of pouring information into his sons about salt and spirits, silver and were-creatures, John Winchester had never once taught his boys about demons.

Yet demons, it seemed, were the only things that mattered. "I don't know why it did what it did, just that it had a hell of a lot of fun doing it." Brady closed his eyes and shuddered. "Sometimes, I thought I was going crazy. I saw my hands moving, I heard my mouth, and I just-it wasn't me, but I couldn't stop. Other times, I would wake up not remembering the last month. It's all fragments."

"That's what Pastor Jim can help you with." Dean nodded to the pastor who sat across from them. "He's helped other people deal with the effects of possession. He can help you. Sometimes hypnosis…"

Brady turned green and Pastor Jim held out a hand. "We don't do anything you aren't comfortable with." His tone was firm, and he gave Dean a steely look. "Sometimes it's better not to remember. What happened is not your fault."

"But we need to know more!" Sam slapped his open palm on the table, making the cups rattle. Thankfully, they were in Jim's kitchen and not in a public place. This kind of conversation would raise too many questions. Sam bit his lip and continued in a softer tone. "We need to know what it wants. We need to know how to find it. If we can't-"

If we never find it, I can't go back.

He had said good-bye to Jessica's unconscious body, because she was still too high on pain meds for a real conversation. He had promised that he would be back as soon as possible. As soon as the thing that had hurt her was dead.

Pastor Jim drew in a deep breath and fixed Sam with a calm eye. "I told you, Sam. There isn't a way to kill a demon. They can be exorcised and they can be trapped, but they cannot be killed."

The words sounded not so much rehearsed as familiar. As if Jim had had this conversation before. Too many times.

Sam shook his head and looked away before a tear could spill out of his eye. Anything can be killed if you know what it is. When had his Dad's old sayings become comforting?

Dad had looked for this thing for twenty years and found nothing.

But according to the demon, Dad had known far more than he was sharing.

"Thanks for helping us out, Jim," Dean said.

"No problem." Pastor Jim placed a hand on Brady's shoulder. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

Brady nodded. "Thanks." He stared at his glass of water, then raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "I do remember one thing. That last night in the hospital when I tried-" He paused, caught his breath, and continued, "When it tried to kill Jessica again. It was terrified of you."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Terrified of me?"

Brady nodded and pointed to Dean. "You couldn't move when it stuck you to the wall. But Sam-you almost broke its hold. It had never seen anyone do that before."

Jim's frown deepened. "What's this?"

"The demon had us pinned to a wall, but Sam clawed his way down to the floor," Dean said. "I couldn't move, no matter how hard I tried. And I don't care how tall he gets, I'm still stronger than my little brother."

Sam snorted.

"He's been living the easy life at college, lifting nothing but textbooks. He's flabby. It didn't make any sense."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Brady looked at his drink, Dean looked at Jim. Jim grimaced and shook his head. "I've never heard of anything like that before, Dean. Sam, did you-"

"It doesn't matter." Sam cut over Jim's words. His stomach lurched at the lie. It might be the only thing that matters. The dreams. The way Jessica fell off the ceiling into his arms. Something was happening to Sam.

Something he wasn't ready to talk about yet.

"We need to get on the road. We need to find Dad." Sam pushed away from the table, and Dean jumped to his feet too. His expression was clouded with questions, but he didn't argue.

Jim's frown flattened into a stern line, but he nodded. "Be careful, both of you."

Dean grasped Jim's hand in a firm farewell shake. "We will."

Sam let his gaze fall on Brady one last time. "If you remember anything, anything at all-"

"I'll try."

Sam cringed at the crack in Brady's voice. The man had been his friend. His best friend. They had roomed together, partied together, and studied together. Apart from Dean and Dad, Sam had spent more time with Brady than anyone else. Or so he had thought. Half of that time, Brady had not been Brady at all. Sam felt the swell of guilt rise in him again; how could he have missed it?

Even with his knowledge of the supernatural, even though he knew about hunting and everything that was out there, Sam had never once thought to question it when Brady came back from spring break with a new attitude. There was an ache in Brady's eyes, the ache of a man searching for forgiveness. Sam looked at this shoes, and turned toward the door.

He wanted to throttle Brady, but knew he could not. He wanted to throttle himself, but knew it wouldn't help. Sam balled up the mess of guilt and anger and buried it as deeply as he could. Neither would help him move forward. Neither would help him do what had to be done to keep Jessica safe. Sam turned away from his friend and followed his brother out the door.

It was time to follow the coordinates Dad had left in his journal. It was time to find some answers.

o0o

"What do you mean he's gone?" Jessica put a hand to her head and glared at the morphine pump on her lap. Between the pain and the drugs, the world still felt hazy around the edges. Her memories were fragmented and mixed with dreams. She wasn't sure what had really happened, and what was a nightmare. "How long?"

Jessica could feel the imprint of her body in the bed. The wallow was beginning to feel like her permanent home. They hadn't even let her get up to go to the bathroom at first. The hours blurred together. Sam had been here. They had all survived somehow. They were safe.

Why would Sam leave?

Her mother squeezed her hand. "It's been nearly a week, honey."

"A week?" Jessica shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sandy frowned, and Jessica sighed. They probably had, she just didn't remember. "You needed rest, Jess. You were hurt very bad. You only just got out of ICU yesterday." They said it would be at least another week before she could leave. Months of therapy would follow.

Dad had already made calls to arrange for Jessica to sit out the spring semester. She couldn't start back to class until the fall.

"Where did he go?"

Sandy lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I don't know."

"What happened?" Jessica could hear the childishness in her own voice, but she didn't care. She was tired, she hurt, and she wanted Sam. She needed Sam. Sam was supposed to be here. They were in the kind of relationship that trumped family, and he knew that. She didn't have a ring yet, but that didn't matter. They belonged to each other. They would be a pair for the rest of their lives. She would always be there for him, and Sam-

Sam wasn't here for her.

"Brady came to visit you and Sam was upset about that-" Sandy spoke slowly, choosing her words with care.

 _Brady_. Jessica shivered. She remembered that Brady had not been Brady. She remembered the black-eyed thing inside of him. It wasn't human, that much Jessica knew. Jessica knew about the things Sam believed in, the things his family hunted.

She hadn't been sure what to think, but now she knew that it was real. She knew what evil looked like: a twisted smile and a sharp knife. She had glimpsed the darkness Sam refused to speak of.

Her mother had not. Sandy Moore had no idea that anything out of the ordinary existed, and there was no way to tell her. No reason to tell her.

"I don't know what they talked about but there was some kind of argument. Sam brought a gun-" Now it was Sandy's turn to shudder. "He seemed to think Brady had something to do with the fire and your other injury." A fire could be an accident, but the gash in Jessica's abdomen most certainly was not. The police had already been through three times to get information from her.

She hadn't told them about Brady. She knew better than to send police after a monster. She would only be sending them to their deaths.

"Brady says he can't remember anything. The police haven't charged him, but the hospital won't let him in again."

Good. Even if it hadn't been his fault, Jessica didn't know if she could ever look at him again without the memory of fire eating her skin. "Yes. Good. But what else happened?"

"I had a few words with Sam about that shotgun," Sandy's tone was apologetic. "But he didn't seem to care. He and his brother rushed out of here and we haven't seen them since."

Jessica closed her eyes, trying to sort through the jumbled thoughts crowding her mind. No matter how she shuffled them, they didn't line up. It didn't make sense. "There has to be something more." Something had happened when Brady came to try to kill her again. She remembered her heart hammering in her chest as he talked about ways to kill her. She remembered crawling across the floor to the gun. She remembered black smoke leaving his body. There was more, conversation she had not bothered to listen to in the scramble to survive. Whispered words from Sam as he put her back in her bed. They were a garbled blur, nothing she did could bring it back into focus.

It was normal, the doctors assured her. Trauma does funny things to memory. She shouldn't worry about it.

"Dad?"

Brian Moore stood at the window, his gaze distant as he looked out over the town of Palo Alto, but he turned immediately when his daughter called. He had never failed to respond when she needed him. His eyes met hers, creased with worry and a sadness Jessica had never seen in her father before. Worry? Fear? She wasn't sure.

"He said that he had to help his brother with something. It sounded important."

Sandy's head whipped around, eyes narrowed on her husband. "He talked to you?"

Brian nodded. "Briefly." His eyes met Jessica's, but he shook his head. There was nothing else to say. Sam had gone with his family. They both knew what that meant. A monster had come through their hometown of Lakeport this summer, and both Jessica and her father had learned what the Winchesters really hunted. Sam didn't know that they knew. Jessica was content to let the secret lie. She had been certain it would never be important. Sam would never go back to that life.

 _No_.

Jessica closed her eyes against a tear. "He's coming back. When he gets things sorted out with his family, he'll be back." _If he can_. Jessica could feel her eyes filling, felt the sobs shuddering up out of her chest as if someone else were crying. It had to be someone else because this couldn't be her life. Her life was college and wedding plans.

Except that life was gone.

Sandy slid onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Brian came to her other side and she was encircled entirely by her parents protective arms. Their warm strength had always been enough before.

Today, it wasn't. Today, for the first time in her life, Jessica felt lost in a way her family could not touch. The fire hadn't taken her life, but it had taken something else, something she couldn't name but knew she could never reclaim.

o0o

It was dark inside the Impala. A quiet night. Dean hadn't even turned the music on. It was just him and his brother. They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the past few weeks. Some days it felt like Sam had never left. They had already taken on three hunts, and Sam had dived into the work with a ferocity that nearly matched Dad's. Dad was nowhere to be found, but Dean hadn't expected anything else. They had a barrel of questions and no answers, no plan, and no guide. No one knew much about demons except how to exorcise them, but that didn't stop Sam from memorizing every book he could find on them. Right now he sat hunched over another giant tome, reading by flashlight.

The phone in Sam's lap began to vibrate and ring. Dean knew who was calling without asking: it was either Jessica or one of her friends. She had started getting creative, reaching out to anyone and everyone, who in turn called Sam. Sam refused to answer, but he also refused to turn his phone off.

The ringing had been a constant backdrop over the past two weeks. Everyone Sam knew called, and a few people he didn't. Sam hadn't answered a single call, but he wouldn't let go of his phone. He simply stared at the caller ID as it began to ring again.

"Who is it?" Dean knew the answer didn't matter. They were all calling for the same reason.

They wanted Sam to come back home.

 _He is home_.

Dean knew something about missing someone who had walked out on you. No matter what their reason, you wanted them back.

 _We can't both have him_.

It was strange to feel grateful to a demon. If the black-eyed monster hadn't said those things, Sam would have stayed. Even now he looked at his phone as if he wished it was a teleportation device that could take him back to sunny California.

Having his brother back should have been a good thing, a happy thing. Sure, Dean wasn't happy about what had happened to Jessica, but he should be happy his brother was with him. Instead, for the first time Dean found himself wishing that Sam had stayed in California. That Sam _could_ stay in California.

What the demon said had kindled a fiery rage in Sam, but it had frozen something inside Dean. Frozen in the icy grip of fear that he could not shake. The demon said there was a plan for Sam. The demon _wanted_ Sam to hunt, and it wasn't just to cause chaos and pain. No. This was different. There was some sort of a plan, some endgame that Dean couldn't see.

And it scared the hell out of him.

What was more, Sam claimed he had dreamed it all before it happened. He had dreamed of Jessica pinned to the ceiling before the fire. He had dreamed that the demon would be at the hospital.

Dean as familiar with psychics, but their power usually manifested by puberty. If Sam had been born a psychic, he should have started noticing ten years ago. The timing was all wrong. Conveniently wrong. Demonically wrong.

The phone was still ringing. The shrill tune had grown all too familiar over the past weeks. Jessica. Sam didn't answer. He just turned the phone over in his lap and stared out the window.

Dean let out a sigh and pulled over onto the shoulder. Sam turned to stare at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Sam, answer the phone."

"What? No, I-"

Dean pinned his brother to his seat with a look. "Answer the phone or give it to me."

"I can't answer it, Dean." Sam's voice was soft, that tone he used when he wanted his brother to back down but didn't want to fight.

But if they didn't have this fight, and have it now, Sam wouldn't make it through the next one. He was distracted, and a distracted hunter was a dead hunter.

"Sam, she was pretty out of it when you left. She probably doesn't remember a thing you told her."

Sam's sullen look said he knew that already.

"So answer the phone and tell her. Explain what's going on. If you want her to wait for you-"

"How can I ask her to wait for me, Dean? We can't even find our own father, much less this demon. Either demon-the demon that did this or the demon that killed Mom. All we can find is another hunt. I have no way to know when this will be over."

"Ok, so tell her to move on with her life," Dean said. After all, it was the other logical option.

"She's going to want answers, Dean."

"So explain."

Sam just shook his head and stared out the window. He flexed his hand. The burns were healing, but he still didn't have full mobility in his fingers. They needed to see a therapist about that. The scar on his cheek stretched as a muscle in his jaw clenched. "I can't. It won't be the same if I do."

"Ok. Then give the phone to me." Dean's voice was gentle, but his words left no room for argument. "It's decision time, Sam."

Slowly, Sam handed over the phone. Dean pulled the SIM card out of the back and snapped it in two. Sam flinched as the computer chip fractured. Dean gave him back the phone.

"We'll get you a new one when we stop for the night."

Sam shoved the empty phone in the glove box. Dean slowly eased the Impala back into the road.

"Do you think she's ok? Do you think-" Sam choked on the words.

Do you think the demon will come back and kill her anyway? Do you think that, when I try to find her again, all that will be left is her grave?

"Demons have to play by certain rules, Sam. Everything we hunt does. It made a deal with you. It has to keep it. As long as you're hunting, Jessica is safe."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know." He looked at the road, eyes fierce. "So, what is this thing we're going to kill next?"

o0o

Brian remembered the first time he had seen his daughter. Wrapped in a white blanket, freshly scrubbed by the nurse, she had looked up at him with baby blue eyes and Brian thought he saw the face of an angel. Soft, smooth skin ringed by golden fuzz, he had never seen anything more beautiful and never would.

My angels. That was what he called his daughter. He never said it out loud. Perhaps it was the clinging stereotype that a man shouldn't get sentimental. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if he let a pet name like that slip in front of their friends, they would be teased. Perhaps it was simply because he wanted to keep the miracle to himself.

Brian didn't believe in miracles. But then, he hadn't believed in demons either until one was staring him in the face. Evil was real, but so was hope. It was sitting in front of him. He didn't know how Jessica survived the fire. The burn pattern on her back suggested that Sam should never have been able to reach her. Yet he had, and here she was.

Surrounded by white sheets, wrapped in bleached bandages, with the sun glowing in the few remaining tufts of her golden hair, Jessica had never looked more angelic. It was a visceral reminder of how close to death she had come.

She would always carry that reminder with her. Her back was horribly scarred and there were patches of skin on her head where the hair would never grow again. Jessica's face had changed, but it wasn't just the scars. There was a deep wound in her soul, matched in intensity only be the fierce determination she poured into her present task.

"Alright. Well, if you see Sam, please let him know I called."

Jessica lowered the phone, closed her eyes for a brief moment, and then began to dial again. "Hello Pastor Jim! This is Jessica, you met me in Lakeport...yes, I'm glad you remember. Look, its about Sam-" Jessica paused, and her expression tightened. "His father is missing? I thought he was just out hunting and needed some help-oh. I didn't realize. No. That helps explain some things. But he hasn't called in a few days and I'm worried. Please let me know if he contacts you. Good! Thank you Jim."

Again, Jessica lowered the phone and closed her eyes for a moment before moving to the next name on the list in front of her. Brain stepped into the room and put a hand on hers before she could start to dial again.

"Jessica." _Please stop. Please take care of yourself. Please, I don't like to see you hurting. Please, don't rush into something dangerous. Please, I am worried_. There wasn't a way to say all he wanted.

"Dad." Her response was warm, grateful. He, at least, was here. But that wasn't enough for her, not anymore. Her heart belonged to someone else and he was gone.

"It's time to go." There was a wheelchair waiting for her in the doorway. After three weeks, the doctors finally felt it was safe for Jessica to continue her recovery at home. Sandy had the SUV parked outside with comfy pillows lining the back seat. They would take Jessica to the hotel for a day or two just to see that there were no complications, and then they would take her home.

Home to Lakeport where she would have her work cut out for her to get back on her feet.

She wasn't able to go charging off after Sam. As much as Brian was not looking forward to the months of therapy, in this moment he was happy Jessica couldn't get anywhere on her own. She had to stay, had to wait, had to take some time to heal and consider.

Consider if Sam was someone she wanted to follow. Consider if the life he'd gone back to was something she could handle. Consider all of the other options open to her.

Brian loved Sam and would have been happy to have him for a son-in-law, but he loved his daughter more. Sam's mysterious past was not a problem as long as it stayed in the past. But Sam had chosen to vanish in the middle of the night, without a good-bye.

Or so Jessica thought. She could not remember how he had leaned over her bed while she slept, kissed her cheek and cried into her hand explaining that he had to go.

Brian would never forget the last words Sam had for him as he followed his brother Dean out the door. "There was a demon in Brady. Don't let the cops arrest him for this; he didn't do it. But I have to go, or they'll try to hurt her again."

They were the only words that could have held Brian's mouth shut, that could have stopped him from trying to persuade Sam to stay. To fight for the life he and Jessica wanted to build together.

They couldn't have that life if Jessica was dead.

So Brian kept his mouth shut when Jessica awoke asking for her lover. He had said nothing as she placed call after call, searching for news of Sam. He hoped that the silence would persuade her to let him go.

It only seemed to make her more determined.

"One more call," Jessica said.

"You've called everyone," Brian said. "Twice. Jessica, he left on purpose. He doesn't want to talk to you."

"He does. He just doesn't think he can."

So. She did remember something. The doctors had said it might come back slowly. "He is doing his best to protect you. This is just making that harder."

"I don't need to be protected, Dad. This is my life, this is my decision too. He doesn't get to make it on his own."

"Have you looked in the mirror yet?"

Jessica looked down at her knees and nodded.

"If you were in his place, what would you do to make sure that this didn't happen to him again?" Brian placed a hand on the bandage across her shoulder. "He had to decide while you were still too sick to have the conversation."

"Yes, but now he needs to answer his phone."

"Jessica, if he does another demon could come to try to kill you."

"No." Jessica picked up the phone and hurled it across the room. It broke in two, tiny parts spilling from the inside as it clattered to the floor. "I hate this! I hate this place, and I hate these burns. I can't close my eyes without seeing it again."

"Pastor Jim came and put a few things around the house. He hid them so your mother and sister won't notice, but they will help keep the demons out. They won't get to you again."

"I'm not worried about me! They can't do anything worse to me." Jessica's voice was jagged. "When I close my eyes, I see Sam pinned to the wall, and Brady carving him to pieces before roasting him in the fire. I hear him screaming, I smell it." Jessica's face was tinged with green. "I can't stop seeing it, Dad. I can't stop seeing it until I see him. I need to know he's ok."

"He knows what he's doing." At the very least, Sam knew more than they did. "Please, sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself. If you spend all your energy on Sam, you won't heal. You have a lot of work to do here." Brian didn't dare tell her to prepare for the fact that Sam might not come back. The boy could stroll through the door any day.

Or they could never hear from him again.

Only time would tell. And only time would help Jessica's wounds heal, get her strong again, let her find her life again. "Stop this, Jess. Sam will call when he is ready."

Slowly, Jessica folded her address book. There were tears in her eyes, but she nodded. "You're right. He won't talk to me until he's ready."

"Come on, your mother is waiting. Are you ready to go home?"

"Home?" The question was not meant to hurt him, although Brian felt the sting of the word. For Jessica, her parents' house was not home anymore. Her home had burned. But she nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

o0o

 **Will Jessica ever see Sam again? How will Season One change if Sam knows from the start that demons are interested in him?**

 **Please review!**


	4. Back to Normal?

**Chapter Four: Back to Normal?**

(This scene takes place right after "Phantom Traveler")

"We had no idea what we were dealing with!" Sam's exclamation was the fifth he had made since they left the airport and he had convinced Dean to head directly to Blue Earth.

"We got rid of it," Dean said. Even though he was taking Sam exactly where he wanted to go. "You found the exorcism and it worked and everyone was fine."

Sam just shook his head and stared out the window. It wasn't enough. Whatever they did, it was never enough. Sometimes, it felt like the old days. Sometimes, it felt like they had never been separated. They were focused on the hunt, they go the job done, they saved lives.

Other times, like today, it's like Sam wasn't here at all. Part of him was still back in sunny California. Part of him was still surprised that life was unfair, that some monsters couldn't be stopped.

Dean had long ago accepted that some questions could not be answered. He had accepted that life wasn't fair, and never would be. Sure, he wanted better for his brother, but he couldn't make it happen. All he could do was keep him safe.

Which wasn't easy, when Sam insisted in running headlong at any danger that came their way.

"We need to know more, Dean," Sam insisted.

Dean couldn't argue, and neither did Pastor Jim when they showed up on his doorstep long after the parish had closed for the night. Jim welcomed them in and sat them down with a stack of books all yellowed with age and worn from frequent use.

Sam ran his hands over the tomes, an eager fire burning in his eyes. "Is this everything?"

"Yes." The lie fell so smoothly from Jim's tongue, Dean wouldn't have recognized it if he didn't know better.

He had been five the first time they had come here. His head barely reached John's belt, and he staggered under Sam's weight. But he held his brother tight and followed his father down into the must basement where the Pastor kept the other books. The books even hunters didn't think belonged out in the open on display.

Dean remembered how his father had hunched over the yellowing pages. He fed Sam his bottle and craned his neck to see a picture of a man, face contorted in horror, entrails spilling out of his guts. Little Dean didn't close his eyes, didn't turn away. He stared at the dark images and strange symbols, and then looked up at his father.

John's eyes shone with the light of victory. "No way to kill a demon? It's all right here. This is a way to turn the tables on them, harness their power."

"That's witchcraft, John. There are ways to kill a demon, and then there are ways to become just like one. Witches harness demon power, might even claim they can make a kill. But don't believe for a second that it's revenge. Don't believe for a moment that the demons aren't dancing with glee every time witch casts a spell. They love pain and chaos, and that is all that book can show you. They'll happily sacrifice one of their own to make a human carry out their dark purposes."

"I'd never serve them. I'd use this to-"

"The only way to use what you find in that book is to serve them, John. I don't keep that as a how-to manual. It's so I know what I'm up against when I go after a witch. Nothing more." Jim stepped between

Dean turned away from Sam, bent over the books, and stared at the door toward the basement. He hadn't thought about that night for years. It was lost in the shuffle, one of a string of places and people they had visited while they hunted. Strange, what the right time and the right trigger could bring back.

Dad knew. Dad knew it was a demon all along. All these years, he hadn't been looking for the thing that killed their mother. He had been looking for a way to kill it.

Jim followed Dean's gaze to the door and raised his eyebrows questioningly. _Do you want to show him the rest?_

Dean looked away. _No_. Even in the middle of the desperate quest, even in those first few dark years after they lost Mom, John had the sense to stay off of that path. But Dean wasn't so sure Sam would make the same choice.

He leaned over the stack of books and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "There's a lot here, Sam."

"Yeah." Sam's fingers drummed against the pages. He stared at the words, but he wasn't reading anymore. "Yeah, all of this has been here this whole time. Do you think its odd, Dean? I mean, Dad insisted that we learn everything he knew. Everything about ghosts, about werewolves. We came to visit Pastor Jim all the time, but we never once learned about demons." Sam looked up, his eyes narrowed on Pastor Jim. "Why is that?"

"Your father taught you about the most common dangers. The things you would run into most often." Jim's answer was smooth, no hesitation. "Demons are rare. There are only one or two known cases of possession in a year."

"We've had two in just a few months," Sam said.

Jim nodded. "Yes. Very unusual. Has anything else unusual happened, Sam?"

Sam head snapped down to stare at the books again. Yes. There was something else. Something Sam still didn't want to talk about.

That was what worried Dean the most. Sam talked about everything. What would make him keep silent?

"No. Nothing else." Sam gathered up the books, scooping them into a bag which he slung over his shoulder. He shook Jim's hand and thanked him for the help, and then he was out the door, head bowed, his secret still festering inside.

Which left Dean and Jim alone for one brief moment. Dean fixed the Pastor with his best imitation of his father's glare. There were too many secrets here, and Dean didn't like it, not one bit. "Dad knew it was a demon all along."

Jim nodded. "Yes."

"What else did he know? What else do I need to know?"

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry, Dean. John always demanded information, but he never traded in kind. He never told me if he learned anything else."

Dean nodded, accepting the answer. There was nothing more he could learn here. If he wanted answers, Dean would have to find his father.

Jim squeezed his shoulder tight. "Be careful, Dean. Messing with demons-" Jim shook his head. "No one ever wins."

o0o

Five months. Jessica swiped a red marker across another day on the calendar. She had filled four pages with her little countdown.

Recover was a long process. Leaving the hospital had been but the first step. There followed regular doctor visits and therapy. She had had two surgeries, and more therapy. Jenna had thrown her a small party when the last of her bandages finally came off, complete with confetti and fizzy drinks. Mom had taken her to the wig store to find something nice to cover up the scarred patches of skin where her hair would never grow again. Jessica worked every day with her weights and resistance bands, rebuilding muscle that had been damaged by the fire.

A black circle marked the date two weeks from now. The date they had all been aiming for. The date she could enroll in Fall classes at Stanford.

Jessica turned back to the task in front of her. Pancakes bubbled on the griddle, and she dropped fresh blueberries into each before sliding the spatula underneath to flip them in one smooth move. Her shoulder twinged. The therapist said she would likely always have pain there. But her range of motion was back. Or at least as good as it would ever be.

It was time.

Jessica set the giant stack of pancakes on the table. Plates were already laid out, accompanied by butter, syrup and orange juice. One yellow lily sat in a crystal vase at the center of the spread. It was her last gift, the only thing she could leave them with. They had helped her so much, thinking they were getting her ready to go back to school. Jessica had never stopped feeling guilty for withholding her true intentions. When she stopped calling Sam, they assumed she had let him go.

Blueberry pancakes had been Sam's favorite. Jessica had not eaten them since he left.

Her bag already sat by the door, packed with the few essentials she would need for her journey. She didn't know where he had gone or where he was now, but she knew where she had to start.

But first, breakfast. First, she had to break her parents' hearts.

o0o

(This bit takes place at the end of the Season One episode "Skin")

"So this is what you do, you and your brother, you hunt down these kinds of things?" Becky was so calm as she said the words, more curious than concerned. She had been kidnapped, seen a creature take her face, and she was ok. She wasn't hiding under the bed or trying to run away screaming. She had taken it all in stride, and although she looked at Sam with new eyes, she didn't push him away.

Becky had been furious when they first arrived, unannounced, to try to help solve Zach's case. It had taken some convincing to stop her from calling Jess.

She's still waiting to hear from you, Sam.

Her words at the time had been tipped with venom, but now Becky's tone held no blame. "That's why you won't talk to Jessica. She doesn't know."

Sam shook his head. "Do you think she'd believe me if I tried to tell her?" He knew from experience that physical proof was necessary. It was as good an excuse as any.

Becky nodded, accepting this line of reasoning. But she didn't stop there. "This all has something to do with that fire, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." Sam looked down at his toes. Seeing Becky made him ache for Jessica, and suddenly the urge to be back with her was too strong. He wanted nothing more than to jump in the car and tell Dean to drive them back to California.

Except that Jessica was still alive because he was here, far from her, hunting.

"I know what caused the fire, but I don't know how to catch it yet." He had scoured every book he could find on demons, but none held the answers he wanted. He couldn't summon the demon responsible without its name. He couldn't kill it, only send it back to hell. That would stop it for a little while, but it could always crawl back out to try again.

Not one book mentioned burning women on the ceiling.

It made no sense, and the unsolved puzzle tore at Sam's thoughts day and night, shredding his confidence and his hope until he had little left but his anger.

Was that what they wanted?

Sam bit his tongue to stop the frustrations from spilling into Becky's waiting ears. She didn't need to know all of this. She was safe, and she would stay that way, tucked away in her nice home with her rich parents and a Stanford education to take her anywhere she wanted to go.

This small incident wouldn't change her life a bit.

The realization set Sam back a step, and he raised his eyes to Becky's face again. She had seen the supernatural, and she was fine. She would carry on with her life just as before.

Sam had always been so afraid to tell anyone, to let anyone know his secret. As if it would taint them, change them in some way. Certainly it would change how they say him.

They would push him away, try to hide from this darkness in his life.

But Becky's eyes held only admiration and thanks. She was still his friend. She didn't shrink away.

Would Jessica do the same?

I should have told her.

In the end, he hadn't trusted her. Hadn't trusted that the bond between them was stronger than this secret. Hadn't trusted that she could handle this knowledge. He had wanted to protect her, or so he had told himself. But no, that wasn't true. It was himself he had been protecting.

He didn't want to face the stares, the awkwardness that settled in when people knew how different he truly was. It had become such a habit, he hadn't thought to break it. Hadn't thought that now, with good friends who had known him for a few years, things might be different.

That he could trust his friends. Trust Jessica to see him as a person first, and a hunter second.

Was it too late to find out?

"You should call her, Sam. Jessica is so mad you left the way you did, but she still cares about you. She deserves to know you're ok. And-she deserves to know what you do."

Sam looked away again. "I miss her so much. I miss all of you guys."

Becky squeezed his hand. "We're still here if you need us, Sam. Stay in touch, ok?"

Sam shook his head. "No. This thing that set the fire, I have to deal with it before I can do anything else. It's more dangerous than anything I know, way more dangerous than the shapeshifter we killed here. You don't want to be anywhere near that."

Becky considered him for a moment, then nodded. "Ok. Before you ask, the answer is no. I won't call Jess. This needs to come from you. But Sam, don't wait too long."

Too long. It had been nearly four months already. An entire semester had passed. How long until Jess moved on? Found someone else? Had he already lost her?

She was a live, that was all that mattered. She would be alive as long as she stayed far away from Sam. He let Becky wrap him in a final hug and settled in the car next to his brother. He pulled a book on demons from the back seat and began to read.

When they met up with this thing again, Sam was going to be ready.

o0o

Jessica stood in front of the hotel room door. The number matched the one on the small slip of paper Pastor Jim had given her. She was in the right place, but her feet were frozen to the pavement.

Memories rushed over Jessica in a wave. The shock of seeing her friend's eyes turn black. The invisible force that dragged her up the wall and pinned her to the ceiling. The sharp pain in her abdomen. The heat.

She drew in a deep breath, as the counselor had taught her, and let it out with a long, slow count to ten. The world came back into focus. She was in a parking lot, not her old bedroom. It was mid-afternoon, no late evening. Jessica placed her hand on her belly, then touched the scar on her scalp.

Please don't go.

The words had come from her mother first. Far from being angry that Jessica had not spoken of her plans before, there was only fear in Sandy's eyes. Fear that her daughter would be hurt again.

You don't have to do this alone.

This had come from her father, and Jessica had no doubt he meant it. He would retire on the spot and drive her wherever she wanted to go. If only she would let him come with her.

I have to do this, and I have to do it alone.

She had been so sure of herself when she said those words. It had felt so right at the time. Now, all she wanted has her parents standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind her.

Why?

Mom had asked, but Dad seconded the question with his eyes. Even though they both knew the answer.

Because I love him.

She didn't have to be here. She could turn around, get back in her car, and go back home. Her parents would welcome her with open arms. It wasn't too late to enroll in school again. Her friends would be happy to see her, several had even offered to share an apartment. There was nothing keeping her here. Nothing except her own stupid heart, which quaked as it thudded in her chest.

Jessica swallowed hard and reached out to knock on the door.

She heard footsteps on the other side, felt the soft vibration as someone pressed their eye to the spy hole. Jessica kept her breath slow and made her face stay motionless, expressionless. She couldn't manage a smile. Not for him.

After a moment of silence, Jessica knocked again. There was a muffled moan on the other side. "No, not you. No, not now."

Jessica leaned closer. "Brady? I know you're there. Please answer me. I know what happened. I understand that it wasn't you."

Pastor Jim had assured her that Brady understood that, too. He hadn't at first, had been convinced that he had committed the actions he remembered his hands taking. That was why Brady was still here. He hadn't been injured physically, but his recovery was going to be a longer, harder road than the one Jessica had traversed.

The door popped open a crack, but Jessica had to nudge it wide enough to see what was happening. Brady was bent double, hands on his knees, taking deep, shaking breaths.

A panic attack. Her presence had triggered a panic attack in him.

"Easy, easy." Jessica kept her voice soft, her tone gentle. "It's ok. You're fine. That nasty demon is gone and he won't be back. You're ok. You're ok."

Slowly, Brady's breathing returned to normal. He straightened, unfolding to look Jess in the eye. His expression was haunted. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Somehow, being the soothing presence for another person had settled Jessica's nerves entirely. She had never felt calmer.

Brady stared at her for a moment, then asked, his voice rasping, "Why are you here?"

"We needed to see each other." The counselor had talked about finding closure. It seemed like a safe place to start. She didn't want to set him off again. "I needed to see that you are you again."

Brady bowed his head, accepting this answer. "I'm me. I would never-I'm so sorry for what happened." He touched his hand to his forehead, mirroring the placement of her worst scars.

"I know. I-" She hadn't come here for him. She hadn't wanted to see him at all, really. But now that she was here, she remembered that they were friends. That she had once cared what happened to him. And, she realized, she still did. "How have you been? Pastor Jim says you've been here for over a month."

Brady's expression narrowed. "I went to the counselor he recommended first. Good thing your dad told me to come here or else I would have been locked up by now…" Brady trailed off. "Part of me wanted to be locked up. It helped for a little while, talking it out with the counselor. But it came to a point I needed more. So here I am." Brady gestured at the motel. "Here as Pastor Jim's PTSD camp. All the lost souls who have seen creep crap and can't handle it wind up here."

"Do you remember it?" Jessica hated to ask, but she needed to know. It was why she had come. "Do you remember what it wanted? Why it did what it did? Do you know anything about its plans?"

Brady looked up and focused on her for the first time. "You're here for him, aren't you?"

Jessica nodded sadly.

Brady's gaze reverted to his knees. "I don't remember everything, and I didn't understand some of it. But I'll tell you what I know." He looked back up at her, and this time there was a hint of a smile in his face. "You look good. I'm glad." Then he took a deep breath, and let his dark story spill into Jessica's waiting ears.

o0o

(This scene takes place immediately before the episode "Home")

Sam's eyes flew open and he drew in a deep, gasping breath. His chest was sore. His entire body was dripping with sweat. His muscles felt rubbery, as if he had over-worked them to the point of exhaustion. Sam clutched the sheets in his hands, his nails biting into the soft fibers.

The motel was dark. A street lamp let a patch of light through the thin curtains that covered the window. It cast an eerie glow across the room. The room shook, as if a pain was passing nearby. The lamp on the stand by the bed wobbled. The chain on the door chimed as it jiggled.

Except there was no train, no subway for miles. They were in a tiny town just off the highway, stopped for the night on their way to who-knew-where.

Dean was already awake and on his feet. He stood between the bed, gun out, ready to shoot. But he shifted from side to side, his aim moving across the room, because there was nothing to shoot at.

"Sam?" Dean's tone was tense. "You ok?"

The rattle stopped. The room was still, silent.

"Yeah." Sam drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Just a bad dream."

Dean's gun dropped to his side. Sam couldn't seen his expression in the darkness, but he knew his brother's gaze was fixed on him. "There's more going on here than just a bad dream, Sam."

Sam stared down at the covers, and unclenched his fists. The sheet fell into his lap, and Sam pulled it smooth. The shaking, had it really happened? The world was still now. Maybe it had been part of the dream.

Sam might have been able to convince himself that was true, if Dean wasn't standing over him with a gun. Something had startled his brother.

Something had made the room shake.

The answer was there, staring him in the face, but Sam didn't want to look at it. He wasn't ready to take that step.

Dean settled back on his own bed and tucked his gun under his pillow. "Was it about Jessica again?"

"No. This was something different. Something new." Sam closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his forehead, where a pounding ache hammered at his temples. "This was someone I have never seen before. It felt different. The same way the dreams about Jessica felt different." It felt real. Somehow, Sam was certain that it was real. It might not have happened yet, but it would.

"Tell me what happened," Dean said, his tone remarkably calm.

"There was a woman standing at the window of a house, and there was a fire…"

 **Please Review! Your response to the story often gives me ideas on how to move forward. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Can't Go Home Again

**Chapter five: Can't go home again**

(This scene takes place immediately before the episode "Home")

Sam's eyes flew open and he drew in a deep, gasping breath. His chest was sore. His entire body was dripping with sweat. His muscles felt rubbery, as if he had over-worked them to the point of exhaustion. Sam clutched the sheets in his hands, his nails biting into the soft fibers.

The motel was dark. A street lamp let a patch of light through the thin curtains that covered the window. It cast an eerie glow across the room. The room shook, as if a pain was passing nearby. The lamp on the stand by the bed wobbled. The chain on the door chimed as it jiggled.

Except there was no train, no subway for miles. They were in a tiny town just off the highway, stopped for the night on their way to who-knew-where.

Dean was already awake and on his feet. He stood between the bed, gun out, ready to shoot. But he shifted from side to side, his aim moving across the room, because there was nothing to shoot at.

"Sam?" Dean's tone was tense. "You ok?"

The rattle stopped. The room was still, silent.

"Yeah." Sam drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Just a bad dream."

Dean's gun dropped to his side. Sam couldn't seen his expression in the darkness, but he knew his brother's gaze was fixed on him. "There's more going on here than just a bad dream, Sam."

Sam stared down at the covers, and unclenched his fists. The sheet fell into his lap, and Sam pulled it smooth. The shaking, had it really happened? The world was still now. Maybe it had been part of the dream.

Sam might have been able to convince himself that was true, if Dean wasn't standing over him with a gun. Something had startled his brother.

Something had made the room shake.

The answer was there, staring him in the face, but Sam didn't want to look at it. He wasn't ready to take that step.

Dean settled back on his own bed and tucked his gun under his pillow. "Was it about Jessica again?"

"No. This was something different. Something new." Sam closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his forehead, where a pounding ache hammered at his temples. "This was someone I have never seen before. It felt different. The same way the dreams about Jessica felt different." It felt real. Somehow, Sam was certain that it was real. It might not have happened yet, but it would.

"Tell me what happened," Dean said, his tone remarkably calm.

"There was a woman standing at the window of a house, and there was a fire…"

o0o

(This scene takes place at the end of the episode "Home." I really thought that Sam should have had a conversation with Missouri Mosley about psychics. So here it is!)

Sam sat on the porch steps of his old home, the one he could not remember, the one where his mother had died, and looked out at the rising sun. Missouri came to sit next to him, the psychic shuffling as her sore muscles began to stiffen. They had all escaped the poltergeist safely, but all of them had their bumps and bruises. Sam was used to dealing with his. He had a feeling the psychic was not.

Missouri let out a sigh as she dropped down next to Sam. "Well, it's done."

"Yeah." Sam looked down at his hands, then across at hers, clasped in her lap in a peaceful pose. The morning was filled with a quiet beauty, the kind that only exists at the start of a day. Before people get up and begin the hustle and bustle. Before the air fills with sound and the traffic really starts to move. This was an empty space, uncontaminated and filled with possibility.

Possibility. It was a word leaden with hope. A word that allowed multiple options, until scrutinized too closely. Was I possible that Sam had imagined the tug that brought Jessica off the ceiling and into his arms? Was it possible that Brady's demon had merely been too weak to hold him to the wall, that his love for Jess could overcome demonic evil? Was it possible that the shaking that filled the room after his dream of this place was a fluke?

Sam had looked up the reports online. There was no record of an earthquake anywhere near their motel. The books of demon lore they had borrowed from Pastor Jim all concluded that there was no way to break a demon's telekinetic grip without some sort of spell or outside power. It could have been lucky timing that brought Jessica down off the ceiling just as Sam reached for her, but Sam thought not.

Was it possible his psychic powers were natural, like Missouri? He turned to look at her, and found her brown eyes already fixed on him. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

She had also demonstrated that she was more than willing to lie about the information she gleaned from her ability.

Missouri opened her mouth, paused, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Psychics who are born with the talent, they manifest at puberty." Sam had done the research after the first set of dreams. Even then, he had already known the answer. They had known psychics all their lives. John had gone to them for advice, even left them with Fred, a psychokinetic, as a babysitter on occasion.

"Not all, but most," Missouri agreed.

True, but a lie at the same time. "If they don't manifest at puberty, they manifest sooner. If my talent were natural, we would have known before I was fifteen." If his talent were natural, Dean wouldn't be so scared. He tried to hide it, but Sam knew. He saw how his brother froze for half a second every time Sam mentioned a dream. It was always followed by a smile and a bad joke, but there was no masking that first reaction.

"That is usually how it works. But if a psychic doesn't want their power, if they don't learn what they can do, it can lie dormant for longer."

She was offering him a way out. A week ago, Sam would have taken it. But he couldn't ignore this any longer.

"She apologized," Sam said. "My mom." He wiped a tear from his eye. The first time he had ever seen Mary Winchester she had looked him in the eye with an expression that old him she _knew_. She knew something about all of this.

"Every mother feels its her own fault when her child experiences pain. It's part of the job."

Sam shook his head. "It was more than that. It was-" He looked down at his hands again. "This power inside of me. I can see things before they happen. I can _move_ things. It's not natural."

"No it's not," Missouri agreed. "I've seen a lot of things in my time Sam, but what you have is unique. Different. I don't know if there's anyone else like you out there or not, but you're not like me."

Sam turned to face her again. "Can you see it inside me? Can you see where it came from? What it can do?"

Missouri's expression tightened.

"I need to know," Sam pressed. "I'm not here for comfort, for a lie that will make things easier. I need to know what is happening to me."

"There's a strong power in you, Sam. More than you know. I can't see the future, only your aura, and its stronger than any I've seen before. I can't tell you where it came from, but I can tell you it is connected to this." She nodded to the home behind them. "It's all connected."

"My mother's death, Jessica's attack, my power, and the demon." Sam listed them out one by one. "But how are they connected? And why?"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I truly don't know. But I will say this. Some psychics try to resist their power. They keep it hidden and the deny its there. It takes longer for them to manifest, but when they do, there are always problems. You can't pretend it is not there," Missouri said apologetically.

"I'm not pretending. I just-I need to know more." He had been over the books Pastor Jim gave him twice, and was no closer to understanding what a demon might want with him, or how his dreams were connected.

"I don't know where you will find answers, Sam. But I know they're not in a book." Missouri rose to her feet and turned as Dean stepped through the door. "Have you got things put back together yet?"

"It's clean enough," Dean said. He slapped Sam on the back. "Ready to go?"

Sam looked up at the house one last time. This place had nothing more to offer any of them. "Yeah. Let's go."

o0o

"Seriously?" The layers of surprise, contempt, and indignation poured through the phone's speaker. Jessica could picture her sister's face, mouth agape, eyes scrunched, cheeks tinged pink with emotion. Always fierce, always honest, never afraid to express herself, that was Jenna. She had no secrets, was incapable of keeping secrets. Especially when it came to feelings.

"He abandoned you! You cried your eyes out over him. You broke a phone over him. I don't care if he had a superhero moment and saved your life. He left when you needed him. You don't owe him anything. He's no good, Jess!"

 _No good_. Jessica had heard those words before. She had seen Sam flinch when others said it, seen the hard blink that said he wasn't crying. The strange habits he had, the odd information he knew that slipped out at awkward times, it made people nervous. They made assumptions.

Wrong assumptions.

"Stop!" Jessica's tone was sharp, stopping the deluge of words. It was all true, all but the last, and she wasn't going to stand for it. "Sam is a good man."

"Meh," Jenna growled. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean he's good for you."

Because that was the problem here. It wasn't Sam that had Jenna upset, it was worry for her big sister. It was this strange quest that she didn't understand.

"I get that you needed to go find Brady, since he was the last person you saw before that psycho came and torched your apartment. Closure's good. It's great! But now?"

"I need to find Sam," Jessica said.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, sis? If it were me, you'd say to ditch the guy."

It was Jenna who went through boys like she went through shoes. Trying them all on to know what she liked, she had said. Inevitably, there had been a few bad seeds in the mix.

"Yeah." Jessica had said it more than once. "And would you listen?"

Jenna snorted. "Me? No. I thought you were better than that."

Better than Jenna? No. Ten times worse. Jenna fell in love on a regular basis, and she could fall out just as fast. There was crying and ice cream and obscene amounts of chocolate involved. The falling out was always as dramatic as the falling in. But in the end Jenna could always move on.

Jessica had never been in love before Sam. There had been varying levels of 'like' and 'care for', but never love. It hadn't come in a rushing burst of euphoria as it did for Jenna. It was a fire that, once kindled, only grew stronger. A chain wrought slowly over time, link connecting to link that bound her tight and would not let go.

Sam was the same way, never too quick to commit but unwilling to leave once he had. It was why they worked so well together. He still loved her. Of that, Jessica was absolutely certain. If she doubted it, she wouldn't be standing at a gas station half a continent away from home.

"This is different."

Jenna's sigh was long, but defeated. She knew too well that the heart could not be persuaded by words. But that didn't mean she was giving up yet.

"I can't believe you're doing this to Mom and Dad."

Pain coiled in Jessica's chest, and she let out a low breath. "What?"

Jenna had always been the best at turning words into knives, sometimes without even knowing it.

"They're worried about you! They did everything possible to help you get better. They took care of things with Stanford so you could enroll again. Then you left without warning, and now they get a phone call every couple of weeks. It's been a month. They're sending money so you won't starve, but they sit up half the night worrying. Hoping that you're not dead in a ditch and the next call is from the police."

Jessica closed her eyes, but the image of her parents' haggard faces refused to leave her. They didn't deserve this.

"I'll call more often."

Jenna's response was a derisive snort. "Yeah, because that'll help."

"Jenna-" Jessica paused. There was nothing she could say to make this better.

"Be safe sis, ok? And come home soon."

As the big sister, that was supposed to be her line. Jessica put down the phone and buried her head in her hands.

 _Am I doing the right thing_?

The edge of her finger caught on the scarred tissue around her ear. She still wasn't used to it, wasn't used to seeing her own face in the mirror.

 _Why am I doing this_?

Jessica hastily smothered the question. The answer would lead her to a place she didn't want to go. She straightened her shoulders and turned back to her car. She had the route marked down on the map spread across the dash. There was one place she knew Sam would go eventually. It was only a matter of time. She gripped the steering wheel tight.

 _I will find you_.

o0o

(This scene takes place at the end of the Season One episode "Nightmare")

Sam still couldn't shake the images the vision had left in his head. The sharp sound of the gunshot, the bullet as it pierced Dean's skull. His brother on the floor, dead.

He had pushed the cabinet away from the door with his mind. It had been like a punch, but it originated in his guts and rammed through his skull like a shot of adrenaline. Sam knew the feeling. He had felt it before, the last time someone he loved was about to die. At the time he had thought it was his imagination.

"Dean, I've been thinking." Sam stopped his packing and turned to face his brother, who was busy wadding up shirts and jeans to stuff in his duffel.

Dean gave him a sideways glance but didn't turn away from his task. "That's never good."

"I'm serious. We know that this demon wants something from me. It killed Mom, it went after Jessica. The same demon killed Max's mother."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"And we both have abilities." Sam let the words spill out, giving shape to his fears. "I mean, I have visions and Max-Think of what a demon could do with Max's abilities, Dean."

Dean's movements stilled and he slowly turned to look at Sam. "Yeah. That would be bad. But Max is dead."

Sam turned away. He couldn't face his brother, couldn't stand to see Dean's reaction to what came next. "I think I have the same ability as Max. When I was locked in that closet, I moved that big heavy cabinet." Sam sneaked a glance at Dean out of the corner of his eye. His big brother's face was an expressionless mask. "I moved it the way Max did."

"Oh." Dean's tone and face gave away nothing.

"The same thing happened the night Jessica got hurt. She was stuck to the ceiling, Dean. I couldn't reach her, but I pulled her down the same way."

"With your mind," Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, his eyes flicking around the room as if he could find answers there. "Something is happening to me, Dean. These visions, this power-"

Dean turned away, then faced Sam with a spoon in hand. "Here, bend this."

Sam stared at the silverware, then back at his brother. "Should I?"

Dean frowned, his stern mask slipping to let a hint of fear through. "What?  
"Should I try to see what I can do?" Sam asked. "I mean, it started with visions. Now I can move things. Who knows what is next? Aren't you worried I could turn into Max or something?"

Dean gave a firm shake of his head and went back to folding up his clothes. "Nope. No way. You know why? 'Cause you've got one advantage that Max didn't have."

"What? That I know about demons? All the research we've done, it hasn't given us any answers." Missouri's voice echoed in his head. _The answers you're seeking aren't in any book, Sam_.

"No. Me." Dean shrugged into his coat and gathered up his bag. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam felt warmth spread through his chest. Dean's confidence was contagious, able to combat the dark tide of fear if only for a few moments. "You didn't answer my question, though. Should I try to find out what I can do? It's only happened when I was desperate, but Max could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted."

"Max only used his power when he was angry, Sam. I'm alive, Jessica is alive, but there's no need to push. Even someone like Missouri doesn't really control what they do."

"There was Fred. Remember?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah. He gave me my first beer. Not the best role-model, Sam." Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder on his way out the door to the car. "You don't need to go around levitating cabinets, we just need to find this demon. Right?"

Sam nodded. "Right." But he hesitated on the doorstep.

Dean paused, eyes boring into his littler brother. "What else?"

"Do you think we'll ever catch him, Dean? Dad has been after this thing for twenty years. What if it takes us just as long?" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "I'm beginning to feel like I'm never going to see Jessica again."

Dean tossed his bag in the trunk and closed this lid with a thump. "I don't know what's going to happen, Sam. But Jessica's safe. That's all you can give her."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know." His brother's words were meant to be comforting, but they didn't begin to soothe the ache that had settled in his soul. Was this what Dad felt like after Mom died? Did it ever get easier?

Sam turned to shut the door behind him and followed his brother to the car. His life with Jessica was gone. He could never get that back. All he had was the road, his brother, and a demon to kill.

o0o

"Are you alright?" Brian tried his best to keep his voice calm, to keep the quaver out of his tone. There was always a lump in his throat when Jessica called.

"I'm find, Dad."

Brian wasn't entirely surprised. He had expected that Jessica would need to confront her attacker at some point. He knew his daughter well. She wasn't the type to run away, to avoid things, or to try to protect herself simply because something was difficult or uncomfortable. She walked into the troubles that came her way, walked through them, and conquered them.

Usually, that was a good thing. It had made her strong, resilient.

Usually, she had a good sense of when to stop, when to back down, when to ask for help. When to let something go.

"Are you coming home?"

"Dad." The word was a sigh, an apology, a plea. _Don't try to talk me out of this_. "I saw Brady. I haven't seen Sam yet. I don't know-" She paused.

Brian longed to know what thoughts lurked behind that silence. Was she reconsidering her decision? "He's involved in something dangerous, Jessica. He made the choice to leave."

"He was told to leave by a demon who basically had a gun to my head. What else was he supposed to do?" She sounded annoyed that he had brought this up again. They had been over it.

"I know." Knowing didn't change Brian's opinion on the matter; rather, it cemented it. If something was willing to kill his daughter to get Sam Winchester away from her, maybe it was better for them to be apart.

Of course, his daughter didn't see it that way. She just knew Sam was in trouble.

"Let me come with you. I can help."

"This is for me to do, Dad."

"I want him to be ok too." It was truth. Brian had come to regard Sam as a member of the family. He had nearly gone looking for the boy several times over the past few months. Pastor Jim had let him know when Sam passed through Blue Earth, face fierce with anger and determined to read every book on demons that he could get his hands on.

Demons. The thought sent a chill up Brian's spine. This wasn't just a lost spirit still haunting the land of the living or a werewolf with a taste for human flesh. This was something created to be pure evil, something that enjoyed twisting humans around just to see them squirm. It wanted the chaos, it enjoyed the pain.

Brian had asked a few questions about demons, and he didn't like the answer. There was a way to trap them, but no way to kill them. They could jump into a person and drive a body like it was a car. A demon could be anyone, could be anywhere. Could even invade Jessica's own body and make her kill herself in order to put a stop to her little crusade.

"I know, Dad, but I have to do this on my own. I'll call if I need help. I promise."

"Call even if you don't," Brian said. _Stay in touch. Let me know you're ok_.

"I'll call you next week. I love you, Dad."

Brian returned the sentiment and hung up the phone. He looked to the heavens, folded his hands, and prayed. If demons were real, then something else might be as well. Brian Moore wasn't too proud to ask for help when it was needed.

* * *

 **NOTE: Fred was the psychokinetic in the season 8 episode Hunteri Heroici.**

 **Where is Jessica going? Will she be able to find Sam? How will Dean deal when his brother's girlfriend shows up?**

 **Do you think that Sam should try to figure out his powers on his own?**

 **Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	6. Reunion

**Chapter Six: Reunion**

For the most part, Bobby Singer lived a quiet life and he liked it that way. He did research, he towed cars, he answered the phones and pretended to be in charge of the FBI, and he filled orders for used parts. He hunted deer and vengeful spirits, and took care of the occasional coyote or werewolf when they started making trouble. He lived on a steady die of beer and beans, and refused to complicate life with things like soap and fresh vegetables. It wasn't the best life-that had died with his wife-but it wasn't a bad one, either. He did a little bit of good for the world, he kept himself comfortable, and he didn't cause too much trouble for the local sheriff.

Problem was, most people Bobby knew didn't appreciate a quiet life. Even though he hadn't seen the likes of John Winchester for several years, hunters tended toward a certain personality type. Take Rufus for example. Paranoid, eager for a fight, but always trying to wriggle out of real work. There was no telling when he or another hunter would call with an 'urgent' question, or show up at the door with the law or a monster on their tail.

Bobby never failed to greet them with a scowl and a stern word of complaint. It wouldn't do to go around encouraging their behavior, after all. Even though he always helped out in the end. They should be aware of the trouble they caused. They should show a little appreciation.

Today was no different. There was a firm knock at the door, and Bobby responded with a growl as a flung the door open.

"What?"

A woman stood on his doorstep. Not that women didn't hunt. Not that women weren't fine hunters. But this woman-she wasn't a hunter. She didn't stand ready for action at all times. She didn't bristle with hidden weaponry. She didn't have the urgent look in her eye of someone who is ready to kill or be killed.

But she did have scars. The riddled her hairline and her arms, and she made no effort to cover them up. She had no shame and no fear; a dangerous combination.

Her face lit up when she saw the scowl. "Bobby Singer?"

That smile was not the proper response to his recalcitrant and guarded greeting. She was eager to see him; far too eager. There was something familiar there. She wasn't a hunter, but she wanted to be. The scars were too fresh, her eager expression to hopeful.

"No. Whoever gave you my name, tell them to lose it." Bobby shut the door with a smack, but the noise did not cover the hiss of pain that exited the girls mouth. Bobby leaned to look through the spy hole. Normally, he waited for the knocking to start again. They always tried again. If they didn't, they weren't worth training.

If they did, he made them wait it out overnight. Anyone who was still there come morning had proven him or herself too stubborn not to train. They also learned that they had best not come to Bobby Singer lightly.

Everyone except John Winchester. Bobby had let him in at the first knock because of those kids, and ever since they had walked all over him.

What Bobby saw through the spy-hole made his crusty old heart crack just a bit. The woman sniffed and wiped her palm across her cheek to wipe away a tear. Her fingers stopped when they reached her scars, and the traced the rough skin back to her hairline.

The hair that wasn't really her hair. It twitched sideways as she fiddled with the edge. A wig. The woman drew in a deep breath, clenched her fist, and raised to toward the door again.

Bobby pulled it open before she could knock.

"Do I know you?"

"We met once. My name is Jessica."

"Sam's Jessica?" She had come unannounced then, too, but there had been a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye. Back when she and Sam were planning on getting married, and she wanted to meet the only person from Sam's old life that he still had contact with. It had been nice, playing surrogate father to Sam while the young man gave John the silent treatment.

"Yes." She bit into the word as if expecting him to raise a challenge.

"What are you doing here? I thought you and Sam broke up." It was all over the hunter's rumor mill. Sam Winchester was back on the road, hunting with his brother. No one knew where John had gone off to.

"Is that what he told you?" There was a dangerous edge to her tone. "Well, _**we**_ didn't break up." Jessica's glare was spoiling for a fight, but Bobby wasn't the intended target. She gave a toss of her head, as if to flick her hair over her shoulder, but the end of the wig curled tight around her ears. "To break up, you have to talk to each other. Has he been here?"

"No." The boy was hunting again, but he hadn't been here. When Bobby first heard the news, he had waited by the phone. He had watched at the door. But he hadn't come, and Bobby once again regretted pointing that shotgun at John so many years ago. If Sam was back with his family, they wouldn't want to see the old scrapper. Dean wouldn't come as long as his father wasn't welcome.

Damn it! He had never meant to alienate those kids.

"He will be." She sounded so certain.

"Don't count on it. His daddy and I don't get along so well."

Jessica frowned. "Why would that stop Sam?"

Well, she had a point there. "Look, my place isn't exactly fit for visitors." There were all sorts of books this woman wouldn't understand scattered about the place. No, he wasn't ready for civilian company.

"That won't bother me. I can even help clean up!" Jessica smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth. "Bobby, whatever you think you're hiding from me, don't bother. I was pinned to the ceiling by a demon. Sam is going to come here sooner or later. And I will wait until he does. I can camp out on your front gate, but then people might ask awkward questions."

Bobby heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and opened the door. "Alright, but you're gonna earn your keep!" He paused on the step to look out at the road. What would be bad enough to bring Sam and Dean to his door?

o0o

The world was falling apart. Dean gripped the steering wheel tight, not caring that the gas pedal was flush with the floor. The landscape flicked past at an alarming rate, and more than one car horn let out an angry blast as Dean zoomed past.

Jim was dead. The kind pastor had been part of Dean's life since he was a small child. In a way, he had been part of the family. When John Winchester was too lost in his obsession to pay attention to his sons, Jim had been a shoulder to cry on. When Dean needed to feel safe if a bad dream woke him in the night, he would imagine the giant crucifix that stood on the wall of Jim's church. Surely nothing monstrous could get past that.

But it could and she had. The demon Meg had walked into his church and slit his throat as if it were nothing.

Jim was dead. Caleb was dead. Dad was a hostage. Sam's visions were getting stronger.

Also, there was a demon in the trunk. Dean could her the occasional shriek through the back-seat. All in all, NOT a normal day for the Winchesters.

A green sign hove into view: Sioux Falls, 20 miles. With every other friend they knew gone-Dean's throat tightened at the thought-he was going to the last place he ever thought he would go again.

"I just hope Bobby will put the shotgun down long enough to listen to us," Dean said. Yes, the last time they had met the gun had been aimed at John, but Bobby had a temper and was known to hold a grudge.

"He will."

Dean looked at his brother questioningly. He sounded absolutely certain.

"Bobby helped me get to Stanford, after that fight with Dad," Sam said. "I ran into him while I was hitchhiking and spent the summer at the scrap yard."

"Oh." Dean's world was too broken at the moment for that one to sink in. He should be jealous, would be jealous once he had processed the deaths of Jim and Caleb. Once he saw his father safe. For now, he was just happy to know that they still had a friend.

When they arrived at the scrap yard, Dean wrestled Meg out of the trunk while Sam went to knock on the door. The demon kicked and wriggled in his grasp, but that was mostly for show. With the Colt pressed to her skull, she wasn't going anywhere.

 _Knock! Knock!_ "Bobby!" _Knock! Knock!_ Sam thumped at the door and called out the old hunter's name.

Dean searched the yard. There was a fifty-fifty chance Bobby wasn't in the house. Sure enough, an old baseball cap rose up from behind the hood of a rusty old truck. Dean had never been so happy to see that stubble-covered face. He lifted his hand to wave. Bobby's eyes widened, then narrowed as a few choice words fell from his mouth. He slammed the hood down and marched toward Dean looking mighty unhappy.

"Sam?" The voice was soft and feminine, the word almost a caress.

Dean turned to see that the door to the house had been opened and a tall, blonde woman stood in the threshold. Sam's entire body had stiffened, his eyes wide, a tear trickling down his cheek.

"Jessica?"

Her hair was different, short and curled around her ears. Her skin was mottled with scars. But there was no mistaking those eyes, fierce and determined, and the smile that dazzled her face when she saw Dean's baby brother.

Sam took a step backwards. "No!" His eyes darted toward Meg. Dean knew Sam's every expression, and now his brother's face showed pure fear. They had brought a demon directly to Jessica, the one person Sam was trying to keep safe in all this mess. Sam's eyes were drawn back to the figure in the doorway. To the person he loved most in the world.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you." Jessica flung the door wide and gestured for them to come in. Her eyes landed on Meg. "What is that?"

 _What_ , not who. How much did she know?

"Well, well!" Meg's eyes flicked to black and she smiled, showing all of her teeth. "Little Sammy's girlfriend. What happened to your face?"

Jessica's face paled and her hand flew to the largest scar, a jagged line across her ear. "Demon." Jessica's tone was flat.

"What are you standing around out here for!" Bobby finally reached them. He flapped his arms to shoo them all inside. "Get that thing into a trap before she smokes out!"

o0o

 _She's here_.

It felt like the world had stopped. The demon, Dad, the Colt, all of it seemed so far away. Sam heard Bobby's words, stepped to one side as Dean dragged Meg into the house, but his attention was completely captured by the woman in front of him.

Jessica.

His heart didn't know whether it should leap for joy or quiver in fear. He had never wanted anything more, but it was exactly what he had hoped to prevent. He wanted to scream, to shout at her to go now, but he stepped forward, reaching for her as she reached for him.

Sam cupped Jessica's chin in his hands, his fingers running over the scar tissue that framed her face. He hadn't been there when the bandages were finally removed. He hadn't known how far the damage went. She looked older, with the short hair and pain lines that still framed her eyes. It felt as if they had been apart for sixty years instead of six months.

At the same time, it felt as if no time had passed at all. Sam wrapped his arms around her and she hugged him tightly, burying her nose in his neck. He inhaled deeply, letting her scent wash over him.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" She stepped back and fixed him with a stern glare. "You didn't answer your phone."

No, he hadn't. On purpose. She should know that. "Jess, you can't be here!" She didn't know. That was how she could stand there, unafraid. She didn't know what Meg was. She didn't know what was happening. "It's not safe, that's why I left. That's why I didn't answer when you called. We can't-"

"Why didn't you tell me that yourself?"

"What?" She always asked the most uncomfortable questions, straight to the point.

"It would have taken ten minutes to answer your phone and tell me this relationship is over." Jessica wrapped her hands around the back of his neck; not a caress but rather a firm hold so he couldn't back away. "You didn't."

Sam closed his eyes, and she pressed her hand into his cheek. "I couldn't," he whispered. "I hoped-I thought you would hate me."

"Everyone told me I should." She let out a bitter laugh, then her tone softened. "But I know you better than that, Sam Winchester. We made a promise last summer. Do you remember that?"

He had spent the summer break with Jessica's family in her hometown of Lakeport. She had brought him to a house that was for sale, the perfect kind of starter home they hoped to have someday. They hadn't exchanged rings, but they may as well have. It was the day Sam had realized he was going to marry this girl.

Back when he thought he could stay out of the hunting life.

Sam shook his head. "Things are different. You don't know-"

"About demons? Sam. I was pinned to the ceiling by a man with black eyes."

His breath caught. He had hoped she wouldn't remember. He had hoped she would explain it away as a dream or adrenaline, like so many others did. He should have known she wouldn't.

"I know, Sam." Her words didn't accuse him for keeping the secret, or betray even a hint of fear. She was calm, as if they were talking about calculus and not demons. "I know what your family does, and I know that demons are after you. I went and had a little talk with Brady. He told me everything."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. He should have known she could handle it. Did he ever really doubt that? No. Jessica Moore could handle anything life threw her way. It was her quiet strength that had drawn Sam to her to begin with. But he had loved her for her innocence as well, wanted to keep this part of his life untainted by hunting. Knowing would change her. It changed everyone.

"I am not mad that you didn't tell me before. I understand why you left. But don't you dare send me away." She wouldn't budge if he tried.

"I didn't want you anywhere near this." There was a crack in Sam's voice. How was it he was more upset than her? It was her world that had been shattered, right?

"I know." She traced the scar that covered the edge of her ear. "So did they. Time to show them we won't be manipulated."

"You can't do this, Jess. You can't leave your family, school, your whole life behind just for me."

"Isn't that what you did for me?" Jessica challenged.

"That's different."

"You're right. You didn't plan to come back, did you?" Her eyes narrowed, and he dodged her gaze. He hadn't thought that was the plan at first, but these past few months, he had begun to realize it couldn't be any other way. To save her, he had to give her up.

"Well you listen to me Sam Winchester. I am not giving up a damn thing. We are going to figure out what those demons want from you, and we are going to put and end to it so that we can go home. Together." She squeezed his hand tight. "You promised."


	7. Push

**Chapter Seven: Push**

The beer flowed cold and bitter over Dean's tongue, exactly what he needed. But then, that had always been Bobby Singer's way. He had a knack for knowing exactly what was needed, and provided it without comment. Dean set his beer down and looked at the old scrapper. His shirt was stained, the edges of his cap were frayed, and a distinct odor arose from his general direction. Dean had never seen a more welcome sight.

"Thanks, Bobby. After the way things went down last time..."

"You boys are always welcome here." There was no hint of reproach in his tone. Dean hung his head. He should have known. Somehow, Sam _had_ known.

Dean reached for his beer again and paused. The table was clean. The familiar sticky layer of grime that coated everything in this kitchen was gone. A plate of cookies sat in the center of the table, next to a wilting bunch of chrysanthemums.

"How long has she been here?"

Bobby sucked in his lower lip. "'Bout a month."

Dean's eyes roved the kitchen. Every surface had been scrubbed and filled with a contradictory assortment of baked goods and health food. A coffee cake coated in brown sugar crumbles sat next to sack of sugar-free candy. A nutrient shake mix leaned against the blender, but was ringed by a line of fresh cupcakes. I the corner, a blue bin marked 'recycle' sat next to the stained tin trash can.

Another man might mistake these changes for signs of domesticity or a 'woman's touch.' Dean saw only a testament to sheer stubbornness. Nothing else could make Bobby Singer budge if he didn't want to.

Dean looked out the window. Sam and Jessica were wrapped around each other, as if trying to morph into one being. Sam's head bent over her neck, his eyes closed. He looked like he wanted to inhabit this moment forever, and when they did pull apart, it was slow and reluctant.

Who was this woman Sam and attached himself to? Dean hadn't given it much I'd a second thought. They had been to busy hunting. He had been too terrified of the growing rage and determination, and Sam's increasing recklessness, to think about the woman who had driven him to it.

He should have. This woman was fierce enough to capture Sam's attention and stubborn enough to live with him. Not an easy feat, Dean knew. What else should he expect from her?

He turned back to Bobby. "What does she know?"

"Everything. Figured it all out a while back, apparently."

Dean nodded slowly, giving himself a moment to absorb this. "Figure it out-when?"

"Before the attack."

Dean took another pull on his beer. Then another. He contemplated the window again. Sam's face was tense, worry and frustration written across his features. Jessica's shoulders were set, determined.

"What does she want?"

"All she would say is that she wanted to talk to Sam. Sort things out. She claimed he wasn't allowed to break up with her without a proper fight." Bobby snorted. "But she started asking all kinds of questions. She's already been to Jim's, and she learned a lot there. She's read half of my books already."

Dean's gaze snapped back to the old scrapper, and his eyebrows climbed to his forehead. "She's doing research?"

She didn't have the look. Dean had seen it enough to note its absence. It was the look that said, 'I don't care anymore.' It was the look that said, 'the world has changed, and I have to change with it.' It was the look that said, 'normal is gone, how could I live like a normal person again?' It was the look of a victim who was about to become a hunter. It was the look of a man or woman determined to _do something_ about this awful thing that had happened to them. Dean saw it every time he looked into his father's face. He knew it well

And Jess didn't have it. The insatiable drive that made a hunter.

So what was she doing here? Finding Sam. Ok. That much made sense. But what was she doing in Bobby's books?

"She want to be a hunter?"

Bobby scowled, and Dean knew his old friend had made a similar assessment of the young woman. "Don't think so. She thinks she can get Sam out."

"Out?" Dean's stomach flipped. He swallowed hard, then sucked down more beer.

 _He's mine_. The thought was accompanied by a fierce swell of anger. Anger he knew Jessica did not deserve. Dean had seen Sam's face light up when she entered the room. He had seen her tend to Sam when he was injured. They were well matched, and if the Winchesters were a normal family, Dean would have been overjoyed for his brother.

 _He's all I have_. Not quite true, there was Dad too. But for as long as Dean could remember, Sam had been his purpose in life. Sam had been his companion in the back seat. Sam had shared every crappy motel, every long night waiting, every dinner of bad diner food. There had been no one else, and the past three years that Sam had spent at school stretched out in Dean's memory as one long, achingly lonely stretch of empty road.

Despite the worry, despite the fear of these visions and the demons' plans, these past few months with his brother were the happiest Dean had known in a long time.

He had thought that Sam killed his relationship with Jessica when he left her alone in the hospital. Had sealed the deal when he refused to answer his phone. Jessica had family who could take care of her, comfort her. She would find another boyfriend soon enough and tell him all about how Sam had been the awful jerk who ditched her in her hour of need. That whole Stanford-mishap was over and done with. Sam was back where he belonged.

On the road. With his brother. Hunting.

"Out of hunting," Bobby confirmed. He took a long pull on his own beer and peered out the window. "She seems bound and determined to take Sam home with her and pick up where they left off."

Dean let out a long breath and steadied his trembling hand. "Well, that can't happen. Sam will tell her."

"I already tried." Bobby peeled off his ball cap and scratched his head before replacing the cap. "Your dad has known for a long while that demons wanted something with Sam. He only trusted Jim and me because he needed our libraries. They came for Sam when he was a kid. They've been stalking your family his entire life. That demon that was hiding in his friend wasn't the first. John and I found one here in Sioux Falls elementary when you two stayed over for a few months when Sam was in fourth grade."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You told her all that? Sam doesn't even know that?" Sam didn't need to know that.

Bobby shook his head. "I just told her that they want something from Sam. She said she already knew. That kid Brady told her the demons have a plan."

Dean's ears pricked and he leaned forward anxiously. "What? Did he remember?"

"No." Bobby downed some more beer and fixed Dean with a stern eye. "That girl thinks she can figure out the demon's plan and put a stop to it."

Dean's mouth went dry. It was exactly what he wanted to do. It was what Dean hoped their father was working on right now. But- "They'll kill her if she gets in the middle of this."

He didn't want her to take his brother away, but he didn't want her dead.

"Yeah." Bobby finished his beer and placed the glass carefully in the recycle bin. "Leave it to Sam to find the most stubborn woman on the planet." He nodded towards the window, where Sam and Jess were now holding hands. "Looks like the lovebirds have sorted themselves out. Time to get to work." Bobby gestured to his living room, where the demon Meg sat tied to a chair under the devil's trap. Her eyes were black and she gave them a sharp smile. Daring them to do their worst.

Dean finished his beer and tossed the bottled in the trash, pointedly ignoring the recycle bin. Challenge accepted.

o0o

It hadn't taken long for Jessica to make herself comfortable in Bobby's house. The place just invited that sort of thing, despite the ramshackle exterior and the layer of dust that coated everything inside. In fact, the unkempt-ness was part of what made it so easy to feel safe there. The floor was worn smooth from use, the chairs were old and sagging. The curtains were bleached by the sun. It spoke of permanence. Nothing here had changed for a long while, and nothing would change it anytime soon. A steady anchor was something Jessica needed right now, as her world had been flipped on its head not so long ago.

She felt no fear as she joined hands with Sam and they turned toward the house to deal with the demon there. But the sense of comfort she felt in Bobby's study vanished like a fog on a hot day, the hazy sense of security stripped away to reveal the bare truth that lurked beneath.

This place was not safe; no place was.

It wasn't just the presence of the demon, dressed in a woman with short blonde hair and tied to a chair. This space, where Bobby had given her her first taste of brandy and she had made him try kale in return. It had changed. No longer a casual sitting room to read and relax in, it was a battle front. The latest skirmish in a war as old as time itself.

The men around her knew it and stood ready to fight. Dean was on the balls of his feet, ready to move at a moment's notice. He held his shoulders wide, his arms slightly spread to project a sense to strength to challenge anything that dared cross him. Bobby, normally surly but laid-back, was now tense with a no-nonsense look in his eye ready to spot any weakness and exploit it. His movements were short and simple, conserving energy to pack the most punch when the time came.

And then there was Sam. Jessica felt the change the moment he laid eyes on Meg. A surge of energy move through his entire body, barely contained. He pulled himself up to his full height, a rare sight, and fire flashed in his eyes.

Jessica drew in a sharp breath. She had never seen that look on Sam's face before. It spoke of hatred, cold and strong, and a willingness to do whatever it took. Jessica felt her stomach churn. No, she did not like that look at all.

Sam immediately stepped forward and sideways to keep himself between Jessica and the demon. Jessica stepped around him and met his fierce glare calmly. "Together," she said. "I am part of this now, too."

Dean looked sick at the thought and Bobby's expression became guarded. They didn't like that? Tough.

"Blech." A gagging sound drew all eyes to the demon. She gave a dramatic shiver. "Eww! All the gooey feelings in this room are making me sick. Can we get on with the torture already?" Her eyes flashed to black and landed on Dean. "Don't you have some questions to ask me about dear old dad?"

"We have some questions to ask about you."

Sam's hand clenched around Jessica's fingers, but she stepped forward undeterred and glared at the black-eyed thing in front of her. For a moment, she wondered who this poor woman was who the demon had possessed. Jessica brushed the thought away and squared her shoulders. Brady had wanted nothing more than to be free of the demon that pulled his strings. She would have to assume this woman wanted the same.

"About me?" Meg turned her eyes on Jessica. "What about me? I was just minding my own business, following orders-"

"What orders? From who? Why?"

Meg snickered. "That would be telling. Daddy wouldn't like that."

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all started at that. "Father?" Dean asked.

"What? Demons can't have family too? We snuggle when we watch movies and give butterfly kisses as bedtime." Meg gave him a wolfish grin. "Daddy's got my first bloody finger-painting artwork on the fridge."

"That's disgusting," Jess said. But she couldn't shake the image of a childish stick figure drawn in a garish shade of red.

Bobby brought out a flask and sloshed water across Meg's face. She squealed and hissed as her skin steamed. "Tell us what we want to know."

"Oh. The big plan? Is that what you're after?" Meg laughed again. "I have no idea. Doesn't matter how much holy water you've got. I can't tell you what I don't know."

Dean grabbed the flask and poured another dose over Meg's face. He leaned forward with a fierce growl as she hissed in pain. "Where is my father."

"Aah! Aah! Oh, that stings! Probably getting his toenails ripped out. That's one of Dad's favorites." Meg leveled her gleeful glare at Jessica. As if she was enjoying all of this. "You could be next!"

"You stay away from her." Sam leaned into Meg, hands braced against the arms of her chair, making her pull her head back as far as it would go. "You don't touch her. Ever."

"Agh!" Now there was a deeper edge to her cry, speaking of the first hints of true fear. Meg gagged. Black smoke swirled around her mouth and ears before being drawn back into her torso with a gasp. She stared at Sam, for the first time seeming to be truly surprised. "What did you do?"

"You heard me. Jessica isn't part of this."

"Sorry, Sammy. You had your chance." Meg's voice was raspy, as if something had scratched up her throat. "Now let go of me, there's a good boy."

Sam staggered back, his hand held to his head in a gesture of pain. Jessica reached out to touch his elbow, concerned. "Sam? Did she do something to you?"

"Me do to him? I'm all tied up." Meg waggled her fingers, her wrists immobilized by thick ropes tied to the arms of the chair.

"Fine, if you won't talk, you get a one way trip back to hell." Dean picked up a thick book on demonology, already opened to the exorcism page. He took a deep breath before starting in on the Latin words. "Exorciamouste-"

Meg hissed in pain and twitched against her bonds.

Jessica turned away, ignoring the conversation, and steered Sam to the couch. "Are you ok, baby? What was that?" She had a feeling the demon had been as surprised as anyone else in the room when she choked on her own black smoke. The black smoke that was somehow her true form. Sam had done _something_ to her

Sam shook his head and moved his hand to his nose, where a small trickle of blood dripped out. "I don't-I don't know but my head really hurts. Like when-" he stopped.

Behind them, Dean finished the exorcism. The entire room shuddered and Jessica turned to see Meg vomit black smoke at the ceiling. Then the woman in the chair shuddered and went limp. Bobby and Dean rushed to untie her as she moaned in pain.

Jessica's stomach churned in sympathy, but she turned her attention back to Sam. "Like when what? Has something like this happened before?"

Sam shook his head. "It's nothing."

Jessica folded her arms and gave him a look.

"Jess-" Sam sighed and cradled his head in his hands. Jessica bit her lip and moved to the kitchen to find an ice pack. She placed it gently on Sam's scalp, then dabbed a tissue under his nose. Jessica let the silence stretch until she was done tending his hurts. Then she sat back and gave him another look.

"I've been having visions. I see things before they happen. Not all the time, just every once in a while I get a flash of something connected to this demon. Then, I-" His eyes flicked toward her, but Jessica did not let any reaction show in her face. "I moved something with my mind."

"Like telekinesis?"

Sam paused, surprised that she knew a word usually reserved for sci-fi books. "Yeah, like that. And just now, whatever happened to Meg-it felt the same."

Whatever happened? Sam had just done something to a demon, made a demon feel real pain, without meaning to, without planning it, without truly knowing what he was doing.

"Oh." Jess shivered. Something was happening to her boyfriend. Something he didn't entirely understand and couldn't entirely control. "Sam, we need to talk about-"

"We got a location." Dean stood beside her, entire body wired with energy. He hauled Sam to his feet. "You good to go?"

Sam winced, but nodded. "Yeah. Where?"

"Jeff City, Missouri."

"Ok." Sam looked to the living room. "What about the girl?"

Dean's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Dead. But she told us what we need. We can go save Dad."

Jessica's hand clamped tight around Sam's wrist. "Dead?" She turned to see the woman in the red leather jacket laid out on the floor, her mouth covered in blood. Her eyes were glassy and empty, staring at the ceiling. Jessica felt her stomach turn.

She had never seen a dead body before. "Sam, wait! You need a plan, you're hurting and you need-"

"We'll make our plan on the drive." Dean glared at Jessica. "You can come with us, or you can help Bobby take care of the body."

Sam's gaze darted between Dean and Jessica. Caught in an emotional tug of war. Jessica swallowed hard and took a step back. No. That was not a good way to go. She squeezed Sam's hand. "Be careful. Come back to me."

He squeezed back. "I will."

He sounded like he meant it.

And then they were gone, out the door and in the car, kicking up a cloud of dust as the Impala roared down the road toward Missouri to rescue John Winchester.


	8. Deal

**This chapter takes place during the Season 1 finale and the Season 2 opener. I'm not re-writing scenes that are basically the same as in the episodes.**

 **Chapter Eight: Deal**

"So, what was that back there?"

Dean drove faster than Sam had ever thought possible. He had taken every turn with a skid and a squeal on the way to Bobby's, reckless with fear. Now he drove even faster, sharp and smooth, with purpose burning in his eyes. They had a location. They knew Dad was alive. Nothing would stop Dean Winchester from saving his father.

So Sam hadn't expected the question. He had expected a swift drive, a brief talk about strategy, and a burning silence while they waited tense with energy for the moment when they would arrive and spring into action.

This wasn't the time or place to talk about his feelings or the mysteries of his new psychic powers. Which kept showing up in unexpected ways, leaving nosebleeds and headaches in their wake.

"What was what?" Sam asked, even though he knew. There was only one thing Dean could be asking about. There was only one thing Sam was thinking about. The strange feeling curled up in his middle, the feeling of a muscle that he didn't know had existed that had been stretched too far and now needed a rest. He had lashed out, like at Max's house, only this time he didn't move a cabinet.

This time, he kicked a demon with the power of his mind, and she had groaned in pain. Sam pressed a hand to his head, trying to remember the feeling. Trying to think how he had done it.

He remembered the Yellow Eyed Demon's shadowy figure in that nursery in Salvation and the way the thing had simply vanished when Sam fired a bullet at him. It didn't matter how good their aim, the Colt would be useless if the demon could vanish at will.

If he could kick a demon, could he hold one still? The thought of trying made Sam's head ache more.

"Come on, Sam. I saw what happened with that demon. She choked on her own smoke, and she didn't do it on purpose. What's happening with you?" Dean peeled his eyes away from the road to cast his brother a worried frown. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah. Just a headache, same as I always get after a vision or—whenever something like this happens." Sam dragged his hand away from his forehead and rested it in his lap. He was ok. He had to be ok. His dad needed him.

"So it's more the spoon bending now."

"Yeah." Sam stared at his brother, but Dean had turned back to the road.

"You got it under control?"

Sam drew in a deep breath. Was his brother thinking the same thing he was? "I don't know if I can do it again, Dean."

"No, Sam. You need to _not_ do that again." Dean's tone was sharp.

"What?" Apparently they weren't on the same page. Again. "Dean, in Salvation I had a shot but the demon just vanished! If I could do what I did to Meg, if I could hold it still-"

"Whoa, whoa! What are you talking about Sam? Remember what happened after? You almost fell over. You can't do that on me in the middle of this. When we go in for Dad, I need to know that you can keep this under control. That something like that isn't going to happen again. Because I don't need to pick your ass up off the floor when we don't know what kind of condition Dad will be in."

Sam paused, then nodded. "Yeah. Right. Of course." He could still see the dried blood on his thumb from the nosebleed. It made sense. He couldn't crash in the middle of a rescue operation. Still.. "But if it means we kill this demon-"

"Sam, we don't know what these powers mean!" There was a dangerous edge in Dean's voice, one Sam didn't hear often. Fear. Until now, he had been able to keep that tone filtered out. Had been able to crack jokes that at least helped Sam feel a little less frightened.

Now there was no masking the fear that permeated Dean's tone. "What, now you want to go experimenting with them? No. That's not a good idea. Whatever the demon wants from you, these powers are part of it. You need to stop using them, Sam. We're going to get Dad, and we can't risk things going sideways. We get Dad out, we get him safe. Without your powers. Got it?"

Sam gritted his teeth against the authoritative tone in his brother's voice. Sometimes, Dean could be a lot like Dad. But he nodded. "Got it."

He did get it. It made sense. So he didn't push. Even when he realized he could sense the jarring, unnatural presence of a black soul when they burst through the apartment doors. He pumped holy water through is borrowed firefighter's gear, and poured salt while Dean held the demons in the closet. He could still feel the presence of something demonic when they found Dad in the next room, bloody and bound to the bed. But he didn't flinch or steam in response to holy water, so Sam shrugged it off.

Maybe it was just nerves. Maybe it was just the headache. What he didn't understand, he shouldn't try to use in the middle of a fight for their lives.

They made it out the fire escape, and that was where it all went wrong. They were ambushed by demons and Sam found himself flat on his back on the pavement. The demon straddled him, fists flying at his head from both directions. He was down, soon he would be unconscious. After that, he would be dead. Dean had been tossed into a car, and Dad sat helpless on the sidewalk. So Sam reached inside and gathered up the strange force that lurked there and threw it at the demon as hard as he could.

The demon flew backwards, arms pinwheeling, legs kicking, until he crashed into a nearby truck.

Pain exploded in Sam's head, and he heard himself whimper. Warm blood coated his face, flowing freely from his nose. He had to get up. Dad was still helpless on the sidewalk, the demon was down but not dead. Sam heard footsteps approaching.

Then Dean's hands were lifting him up and helping him stagger down the sidewalk. "I'm sorry," Sam gasped. "You were right." He was useless now, couldn't even help Dean help Dad up.

"Better than you dying, Sam," Dean said, but there was a grim tone in his voice. There was no time to talk about it now. Dean juggled father and brother, giving them each a shoulder to lean on. Uncomplaining.

Later, Sam knew he would be grilled. For now, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until they reached the safety of the Impala.

o0o

 _I pointed a gun at my brother_.

The thought still sent a chill through Dean, and he gripped the steering wheel tight as Dad gave directions to an abandoned house he knew of not too far off the highway.

Sam didn't even know it. He had been curled up in pain, blood streaming from his nose. He hadn't seen that Dean had the Colt in hand, ready to shoot the demon before it could hit his brother again. He hadn't seen Dean's aim follow the demon, then swing back to trace the trajectory to the source of power. Whatever had flung that demon aside must be dangerous. Must be worse. Must be a threat.

All there was was Sam, still flat on his back with one hand outstretched toward the demon and the other clutched to his forehead.

Dean lowered the barrel as soon as he realized. But that didn't change the fact that for one terrible millisecond, Dean had stared down the barrel of a gun at his own brother's face. His brother, who had tossed a demon into the air as easily as...as easily as the demon had tossed him.

Dean felt the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat. The thought that had been troubling him now unwilling to remain tightly locked away in his subconscious. Sam's powers act like demon powers. The visions had all been connected to the demon, and now Sam could do things _to_ demons.

 _Dad knows more than he is telling us_. That much had been clear from the start. Yet every time they had a chance to talk, John had side-stepped the questions. Now they were alone, three Winchesters in an abandoned shack, and Dean was not going to let his father wriggle out of this again. He was ready to demand answers.

Then his father spoke the words that took his breath away.

"I'm proud of you, son. You did a good job back there."

For a moment, Dean glowed. Words of praise from John Winchester were rare things. All Dean had ever done was try to please his father. Those simple words were music in Dean's ears, the only thing he ever wanted from his dad. It wasn't that John Winchester had never said them before...but this time it sounded wrong. Different. This circumstance didn't fit.

"Give me the Colt, son."

Dean's hand clenched around the gun handle, and his eyes narrowed. The warm, glowing feeling vanished, replaced by a dark certainty that all was not right.

"My father would never say that." His blood turned to ice in his veins and Dean found himself pointing the gun at his father. It was like fate had decided that a Winchester would die today, and it would be Dean's fault.

 _I can't shoot_. As Dean looked at the yellow eyes staring out of his father's face, he knew that he would not fire that gun. He only hoped the demon wouldn't call his bluff.

Sam certainly seemed to believe Dean would shoot. He came in to report all salt lines were secure, only to stop short and stare at the gun, his brother, and then his father with wide eyes. "Dean, what's gong on?"

"That thing is in Dad. I think it's been in him this whole time."

Dean's insides squirmed at the thought of the demon using his father's body like some sort of puppet. Sam stepped in line beside his brother to face off against the demon, but Dean felt no relief. Now, he had to figure out what to do because he knew he couldn't shoot. His job was to protect his family. If he killed the demon, he killed his father.

Dean had spent too long searching for his father to loose him today.

The demon ripped the gun from Dean's hands, slammed him against a wall with that invisible, telekinetic force, and circled his prey with a shark-toothed grin.

But he didn't seem interested in Dean. His yellow eyes landed on Sam, who was also pinned to the wall. As Dean struggled against the invisible hand that held him down, the demon taunted his brother. He set the gun down on the table and dared Sam to use his powers to take it up and kill him.

That was when Dean knew. Whatever was happening to his brother, it wasn't good. Whatever this psychic crap was, the demon wanted it to happen. Which mean that Dean needed to stop it. Which meant that Sam had to fight it, deny it, refuse it.

But he could see the fierce determination in his baby brother's eyes. He could see hatred burning strong. Sam wanted that gun. He wanted to kill the demon, and he was going to push through ever inhibition and every mental barrier to make it happen.

 _Don't you dare, Sammy_!

Then the demon turned on him. It tore into him, drawing blood without lifting a finger. Even as he cried out in pain, Dean knew the demon had made a fatal mistake. John Winchester cared about family more than anything. Dean knew this, knew this because it was where he had learned it. His father couldn't hurt him. Couldn't let the demon kill him.

And he didn't. Dad took control the same moment Sam seized the Colt, and Dean watched his brother point a gun at his father.

As if fate had decided that a Winchester would die today.

o0o

Gone again. Jessica took in a deep, measured breath as her feet pounded the gravel road. The rocks would tear up her sneakers in short order, but Jessica didn't care. She needed this—the run, the fresh air, the open space.

Not that there was anyone to get away from. Only Bobby waited for her back at the house, consuming twice as much liquor as usual and trying to pretend that he wasn't waiting for the phone to ring.

Sam was gone again. Dean had insisted, Sam hadn't argued, and Jessica got it. She really did. Their father was being held hostage and they didn't have time to linger for explanations. She understood, but that didn't make it ok.

 _I hate waiting_. She had seen her mother stay up late, pacing with worry when her father was away dealing with a particularly dangerous situation at work. Jessica had determined that she would not put herself in that position. She would not love someone who would constantly walk into danger. She had fallen the tall, puppy-eyed nerd who was going to be a lawyer. If he stayed late at the office, the greatest danger he would face was a paper cut. That had been the plan.

Yet here she was. Waiting. Wondering. Will he come back?

Sam had promised he would be back, but he couldn't keep a promise if he was dead.

Jessica felt her phone vibrate and paused to catch her breath before answering. Sam's voice greeted her, soft and trembling like he was in pain. Jessica knew before he even said her name that _something_ had happened.

"Jess-" His breath caught. "There's been an accident."

o0o

 _She came_.

The hospital was a cold place, with tile floors, beige walls, and vinyl-covered couches. There was little comfort to be found here. Since he didn't need a bed, Sam had spent most of his time in a plastic chair. Waiting for news about Dean. Waiting for news about Dad. Worrying, wondering, regretting, and trying not to cry.

Maybe he shouldn't have called her. She didn't need more pain in her life. But she had come to find him and Sam realized he couldn't shut her out anymore. Not when he knew she was there, not now that she knew everything.

Demons. Monsters. Hunting. Jessica knew about all of it and here she was, standing in the doorway to the hospital waiting room looking like a miracle. Sam knew how many miles the trip was, he knew the rules of the road, and he knew she had broken every one to get here so soon. He'd seen Dean tear up the road when he needed to, but he had never expected it from Jess.

She wrapped him up in a warm hug, and Sam couldn't help the tears that leaked across his cheeks. Her presence felt so good, and the gnawing ache in his chest eased a bit.

"What happened?"

He knew the question would come, but he hadn't begun to think how to answer it. He didn't want to lie to her anymore, and he didn't need to. So he told her everything. He told her about they fought the demons to rescue their father. He told her how he had sent a demon flying across the street. He told her how John had been possessed, and the cruel game the yellow-eyed demon had played with them all. He told her how he tore himself from the wall to take up the gun, but he couldn't end it. He couldn't shoot his father.

"It's still out there." Sam gripped her hand tight. "I'm sorry."

She had listened to every word without flinching, her hand never leaving his back. Now she just shook her head. "He's your father, baby. Of course you couldn't shoot. I'll never be sorry for that."

Sam turned to stare at Jessica for a long moment. _She knows everything. She's seen a demon. And she's here. Still here_. Not flinching. He realized suddenly that she was still dressed in her jogging clothes, the sour smell of sweat stuck to her. She hadn't even stopped to change.

He'd been so scared to tell her the truth, but the truth didn't hurt her at all. In the end, it had been the secrets that caused the damage. If she had known about demons before he went to Jericho with Dean, would she had been able to keep the monster out? A simply line of salt could have changed everything.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm sorry I never told you before. I'm sorry I left you."

Her smile lit her face, but there were tears in her eyes. "Oh, Sam." She leaned forward and kissed him for one long, blissful moment. "Is Dean any better?"

Sam shook his head. "No. They don't think he'll make it."

Jessica squeezed his hand tight. "And your father?"

"He's fine. We've already had a fight." Sam had no worries about his father's health. He was only worried what would happen between the two of them without Dean to intervene.

He didn't know how he would get through any of this without Dean.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jessica shouldered her bag. "Where is he? I've got the stuff he asked Bobby to send."

"Stuff?" Sam asked.

Jess nodded. "Yes. Bobby said it was to summon a demon."

Sam stiffened. "Summon a demon?" What was Dad thinking? Sam narrowed his eyes and took the bag from Jessica. "I'll take it to him."

It was so like Dad, to focus on the demon and ignore Dean. It was so like Dad to run off with a plan that he refused to share. Well, it wasn't going to happen this time. The doctors said that Dean was fading fast. They didn't have time to chase after the demon.

Dean had been right, family came before revenge. If Dad didn't understand that, Sam would tell him. It was time for another fight.

o0o

 _Dead_.

Dead before the doctors arrived to haul him onto a gurney and start chest compressions. Dead before Sam's cup of coffee hit the floor and he rushed to his father's side. Dead before he whispered his final words to his son and marched purposefully out of the room.

John Winchester was dead long before his heart stopped beating. Jessica had known it before she saw it. Before she watched as Sam and Dean hovered, waiting for the doctor to make the call. They leaned into the doorway, not allowed to get close yet. Not able to take another step forward anyway. Bent by the weight of the loss they had barely begun to feel.

She hadn't known the moment she saw him, expression strangely both satisfied and troubled when Dean miraculously woke up. She had felt a pang of foreboding, but she hadn't known yet. Not until John asked, begged Sam,

"Could we not fight?" _Just for once._

 _Just for this last time._

 _Can I say my good-bye in peace_?

Sam hadn't seen it. She loved him, but he could be so blind. His emotions were what endeared him to her, but they could rise up at the most inconvenient times. They were all he could see, blind to everyone else in the room.

But Jessica saw. She saw and she followed. After Sam left the room and John bent low to whisper something in Dean's ear that made him rise and turn and try to follow.

But John was gone, moving down with hall with steady, swift, dreadful purpose.

Dean should not be awake. Could not be awake, except that something super-natural had happened. Something had brought him back, and not for free.

"Wait." Jessica trotted after John and grabbed his sleeve when he refused to stop or even turn. "Wait. What are you doing?"

It didn't matter that he was a foot taller than her and had a gun in his hand. It didn't matter that he had learned to kill in Vietnam and had spent the past twenty years killing things bigger and stronger than himself. All that mattered was that his sons needed him. Needed him badly, and he was walking away. For good, she feared.

"What I have to." He stepped aside to go around her, and she stepped in his path again.

"You can't do this."

"It's already done." He stepped around her without looking back to take the last few steps alone. She couldn't stop him. She couldn't undo what had already been done.

All she could do was watch.


	9. Goodbye

**Chapter Nine**

Funerals were supposed to be held under the open sky when the sun was high. They involved a deep hole and a mound of dirt and scores of people all dressed in their best clothes, no bright colors allowed. A hunter's funeral happened at night, with the body raised on a platform of sticks that would become a bonfire.

Sam and Dean worked in tandem to wrap John's body in white cloth and then lift it onto the top of the wooden platform. They moved in sync, only needing a slight gesture here, a head tilt there, or to catch the other's eyes in order to coordinate their movements. Jessica felt like she was watching a stranger as Sam moved through the silently choreographed dance with his brother.

He had been alone when she met him. Yes, Sam had a few friends, but he had been alone in his heart. No family, no one to watch his back or who knew his history. Jess had assumed that he had always been that way, with no one allowed to get too close. No one who really knew him to his core.

Yet here was Dean, the big brother who appeared in the middle of the night and whisked Sam away with a few fateful words. She hadn't understood then how Sam could leave with Dean after a few minutes of cryptic conversation. After all, Sam had never spoken to Dean. Had never spoken of Dean the entire time she knew him.

It was another lie, one he hadn't said out loud but had managed to tell nonetheless. Sam made everyone believe that his family didn't want him, that they didn't get along, that had had never gotten along. His silence spoke volumes, or so people assumed. So Jess had assumed.

Sam's closeness to Dean came as a surprise, but the argument she had overheard between Sam and his father had not. It was the purposeful look in John's face after Sam left the room, and the conversation John had with Jess when Sam wasn't there to here, that had been the surprise.

 _"I'm sorry." John looked up at her from his hospital bed and touched his scalp, mirroring the position of her most obvious scar._

 _Jessica shrugged. She had heard those words so many times in the past year. "It wasn't your fault."_

 _"It would never have happened if I kept Sam at home. If I told him the truth about what the demons want."_

 _"You didn't have a choice about Sam going to college-" Jessica started responding to John's first statement before she processed the second. "What do you mean? You know what the demons want?"_

 _"I have a few ideas." Spoken like a man in the habit of withholding information._

 _Jessica crossed her arms and glared. "Are you ever going to explain them?"_

 _"No. It's enough to know the demons want Sam for something. But you don't seem surprised by that." John fixed her with an evaluating look, as if weighing her on a scale inside his mind._

 _"It's been a bit obvious lately."_

 _"They tried to kill you, permanently scarred you, you know they're coming back, and you're still here." The scales were still shifting, adding the weights, waiting to see how she would measure up._

 _"Yes, and I'm not going anywhere."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because I love Sam. I've been hurt enough to know what I can handle. I've been hurt enough to know I don't want to see that happen to Sam. Don't tell me to go home to be safe, Mr. Winchester."_

 _"I don't care if you are safe or not." John's tone was cold and logical. "I wish you had died when they tried to kill you, because you being here has just made things worse."_

 _Jessica took a step back, away from this man with the intense eyes and the expression that said he spoke truth. If she died, he would not regret it."What? How?"_

 _"These things we hunt, they want Sam. They want him on their side, and they want to control him. They will try to push every button he has to get what they want, and_ you _are his greatest weakness. You are the thing he loves the most. You will be their greatest weapon against him."_

 _"They already tried." It didn't get worse than being burned alive. Did it? Jessica's stomach churned at the thought._

 _"They will try again. They will push all of his buttons, and you will be the first. They will use you to turn Sam into me."_

 _"You don't want Sam to be like you?"_

 _"I don't want either of my boys to be like me. Obsessed. Unable to stop. Willing to do anything. No." John shook his head. "If Sam turns into me, they win."_

 _"Win what? What do they want?"_

 _"They want Sam to be their puppet on a string. Don't help them get to him." John's tone was gentle, but firm. "Go home."_

Home. Jessica thought of Palo Alto and the apartment that had burned. There was no returning to that place. Then she thought of her hometown, Lakeport, and the family that waited for her there. Worried for her there. They would welcome her back with open arms. They would never speak Sam's name again and help her move on with her life. In time, she could find a new normal and leave all of this behind.

"It's all done. We're ready to go." Sam stood beside her, face wet from tears, nose red from crying. He reached out and took her hand. "Are you sure about this?"

Jessica squeezed his hand and pulled him into the backseat with her.

"No."

o0o

Fire. Dean could still feel the heat of the flames against his skin, hear the crackle of wood, smell the charred flesh. He had burned bodies before, monsters and hunters. They all ended the same; taken away by the flames.

It was how everything in his life ended, starting with Mom and the fire that had changed everything.

Dad hadn't been around for over a year. His sharp tone, his stern presence had been absent from Dean's life long before now. That didn't matter. There had always been the hope that they would meet again, the knowledge that Dad was out there fighting.

Now there was nothing, nothing but ash and a gaping hole in Dean's life that he didn't think could ever be filled. The world had changed when John Winchester left it, and not for the better. There was no safety net, no shoulder to lean on, no certainty that if only Dad were here, he would know what to do.

They had beaten him. The demons had beaten John Winchester and left him lying on the floor like a toppled chess piece in whatever game they were playing. The game where Sam was the king and Dean was the only piece left on the board to protect him.

Dean, the one who should be dead now but wasn't.

He fingered the cold beer in his hand, purloined from Bobby's fridge, and stepped out onto the porch. It was late, even for a hunter. Sam had headed for bed as soon as they arrived, leaving Dean to face the darkness alone.

He stopped at the sight of another figure, sitting on the porch steps with something furry in her hands. The silhouette was familiar but somehow wrong. The head was too small, the tufts of hair patchy and smashed.

"What are you doing out here?" Jessica asked.

Dean inched closer, not bothering to hide his stare. She held her wig in her hands, letting the starlight dance of the scars that riddled her scalp. Another person who should have been dead.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I couldn't sleep."

"That's not what I meant." Dean sat down on the porch and gestured at the scrapyard with his beer bottle. "I mean, why are you still here? Heck, why did you come here at all? After what they did to you-" His gaze flicked over her scars again. "I wouldn't come back for more."

She turned and fixed him with a penetrating gaze, one that wasn't fooled by his easy words. "Wouldn't you?"

Of course he would. "Yeah, but that's me. You have a life to go back to."

"You could build a life away from all this, like Sam did."

Something quivered inside Dean, but he squashed it. "No. It's too late for me. Besides, you saw what happened. They're just going to keep coming. Sam's not safe until we figure out what these demons want." That question was becoming more and more important. Dad had known the answer, but hadn't shared. No, he'd only left cryptic instructions that made no sense.

"I know. That's why I'm here." She sounded so confident, so sure of herself. But as bad as her run-in with the demon had been, she still did not understand what this life was really like.

Dean shook his head. "You don't have any idea what you're getting into. I know you think you're trying to help Sam, but it will be better for him if you leave now."

"Save him the heartbreak when I finally give up and leave further down the road?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Dean said. Dad's final words were ringing in his ears.

 _If you can't save Sam, you will have to kill him_.

"What if I'm not here for Sam? What if I'm here for me? I was stuck to the ceiling and nearly killed by a thing made out of black smoke. I need to know what is happening, and I need to see it through until I know it is over. Otherwise, I'll be looking over my shoulder wondering when the next attack will happen."

Dean frowned, and offered her his beer. Jessica took the bottle and threw her head bag, taking a long, deep pull.

"There won't be a next attack because Sam and I will take care of it."

Jessica lowered the beer and turned to stare at Dean. He continued, "We do what we do so that people like you don't have to. I kill the bad guys so you can go home and have your apple-pie life. You don't need to be here. Go home."

o0o

"You want to what?" Bobby Singer was gruff on a normal day, but somehow the glare he gave Jessica when she made her request was grumpier than usual. "Why me? Sam and Dean went off on a hunt, in the only working vehicle I have left on the lot, I might add! You could have gone with them."

Sam and Dean had gone to answer a voice mail left for their father, and were now hunting a monster hiding in a carnival. Hopefully, they would be gone for a few days. Long enough for Jessica to do this before either one could argue with her.

Jessica shook her head. "No. I don't want to learn to hunt from Sam. He'll try to take care of me and shield me. They both will. I want to learn from you."

"Why?"

"Because it has been pointed out to me that I may do more harm than good by staying here." Jessica frowned when Bobby didn't say anything to argue the point. "I need to know what the job is all about. I need to to get a taste of hunting for myself. If I try to stay, and realize I can't handle it-It's better to know now."

Bobby grimaced, but once again did not argue the point. He just drank down the rest of his beer and opened a newspaper.

Later that afternoon, they arrived in Nebraska with the addresses of three witnesses and a trunk loaded with weapons, shovels, and salt. Jessica stared at the fake ID in her hands.

"Why do I need this? Do you know how much trouble we could get in for pretending to be FBI?"

"Do you know any other way to get a witness to talk to us?" Bobby replied. "We can't tell them the truth. I've met a few hunters who tried. They all wind up doing this in the end. Best to start out on the right foot."

"Right."

Their first witness was an elderly woman with a bruised hand and eyes red from crying. She had tried to save her husband, and gotten a broken bone for her efforts. Talking to her made Jessica want to stop and cry with her. There was so much pain bundled up in one small conversation, and nothing they did would help ease it.

The second witness with younger, but just as sad. His hands trembled as he tried to pour them tea, and Jessica wound up fixing it for him. He seemed relieved to have someone believe his story, but that wouldn't bring his wife back.

The third witness glared at them through the entire interview and only gave single-word answers. She didn't need anyone to listen to her story, she said. Her spouse had been the last to die, and the FBI should have stopped the killer long before now. As she left the house, Jessica felt like she had been pummeled by a set of invisible fists.

"We should have gotten here sooner, Bobby."

"We had no way to know it was our kind of thing sooner," Bobby replied. He'd been stoic and professional through it all, asking questions and never giving a hint that any of this bothered him. Now he stopped by the car and looked at Jessica. "You alright? We ain't even gotten to the nasty part yet."

Jessica pointed back to the house they had just left. "Is this what it's like every time? I mean, the people. You spend your entire day talking to hurting people." She pointed to the pile of research in the front seat. "Or reading about horrible things that happened in the past."

"That's the job," Bobby said. "That's how we get information. But we will stop this from happening to someone else. Of course, they'll never know, so they can't thank you."

He was right. It didn't take much, in the end. They dug up a grave a poured salt and gasoline over the bones. Jessica got to light the match, but it didn't seem very victorious. After all, the spirit was just another victim here. The person the bones belonged to had been murdered by her husband, and had only been trying to get revenge. She wasn't evil, just hurting.

Everywhere she looked, in everything she saw of the hunting life, Jessica could only find pain. She was beginning to understand why Sam had been so desperate to leave.

She also knew she couldn't stay.

o0o

Jessica was waiting for them when they returned to Singer Salvage. Sam saw her sitting out on the porch as they pulled up in the rickety old min-van that made him desperately homesick for the Impala. He'd made an agreement with Dean on the way home that they would not try to hunt again until the old Chevy was back up and running. If Jessica rode with them, would she want the front? Would they stay in the backseat together? Sam's long legs didn't fit so well back there anymore, but he could manage.

Expect that he knew the moment he saw her there would be no need. She had her bag sitting by her feet and her keys were in her hand. There was a sad look on her face, one that Sam knew meant she was getting ready to do something unpleasant.

He didn't want to approach her, because then she would have to say the words. But there was no avoiding it.

"Jess?"

She stood and wrapped her arms around him in one motion, eyes glistening. "Hey, babe. You made it back in one piece."

"Yeah." Sam buried his face in her hair. "We're fine. What about you?"

Jessica pulled back to look up at him and brushed his shaggy bangs out of his eyes. "I've got to go home, Sam. I'm sorry. I know it's terrible timing. I know your father just died, and I should be here for your. But I can't." She gestured at the salvage yard around them, filled with the remains of dead cars. "I can't handle the life you have. It's not good for me, and I don't want-I don't think it's good for us for me to be here."

Sam closed his eyes. Everything inside him was screaming 'no', but he couldn't protest. More than anything, he wanted Jessica to be safe. To have a life. Even if it meant she couldn't do that with him.

"I understand. It's ok. Just-" Sam's voice caught. Asking her to wait for him wasn't fair. Asking why she was leaving wouldn't help. "Be safe. Ok?"

She pulled him close and kissed him one last time. "You too, Sam. I still love you." She didn't give him a chance to reply, just stepped past him and walked to her car. She loaded her bags into the trunk and drove out onto the road without looking back.

Dean stood by Sam's elbow, paying no attention to the car. His attention was fixed solely on his baby brother. "You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah." Sam sniffed, and realized that his eyes were yet. "Yeah I-you need any help with the car?"

A half-smile flicked across Dean's face. Any other day, he would complain that Sam was no use under the hood. Today, he just nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I could use a hand. Come on."

 **If you're still reading this story, thank you! I know I haven't been consistent about the updates. I've got just a few chapters left, and I will try to get them out soon. I would appreciate if you could leave a review. Hearing from my readers is what keeps me writing.**


	10. One foot in

**Chapter Ten: One foot in, one foot out**

Jessica was sitting in the kitchen with her mother the first time it happened. Sandy was standing at the counter, cutting up vegetables for tonight's dinner. Jessica was at the table, fliers for half a dozen colleges spread out before her. She had to choose one soon, because fall semester would start in a few weeks.

They had all already accepted her. The first thing Jessica had done when she got home was sent out transfer applications to every school she could think of. She didn't have time to shop and decide first; the deadlines were too close. Besides, she had needed something to do. She needed to feel like she had forward momentum, like her life was taking a new direction.

She needed to forget the sight of Sam's face as she'd told him she was leaving.

He would be ok. He had his brother. Jessica hadn't been around them long, but it had been long enough to see how close Sam and Dean really were. How much Dean looked after Sam in a way that Jess could never hope to duplicate. It was part of why she knew she could be free to leave.

Sam had Dean, so he didn't need her.

Jessica picked up a glossy photo of a student with stacks of homework spread out underneath a shady tree and tried to tune out the sounds of Jenna's TV program. Little sister was busy bingeing bad TV before she, too, had to return to school at the start of fall semester. Jenna had been very vocal that Jessica should join her at Berkley.

Jessica wasn't convinced that was a good idea. Sam and Dean might be able to live on top of each other, but she was pretty sure she would strangle Jenna at some point if they inhabited the same campus for too long.

"...cattle found mutilated in southern Missouri. All of the blood was drained from their bodies. I don't know what they want it for, but don't you know you can buy that stuff at the butcher shop?"

Jessica turned to stare at the TV. "What are you watching?"

Jenna licked her fingers, which were yellow from cheesy puffs. "No idea. Weird News Wednesday?" The image on the screen flicked away, replaced by a guy running through the streets with a mannequin under his arm.

Cattle mutilation. That was a demon sign, right? But—drained of blood? What did that mean? Jessica could feel her heart hammering, and she closed her eyes. They're not here. They're not here. No they weren't here, but they were out there, and they always would be.

Mom turned to get something out of the fridge and cocked her head, eyebrows crinkling in worry. "Jess, you ok?"

There was no way she could explain to her mother why the strange news program had bothered her.

"Yeah." Jessica took a deep breath and gathered up her brochures. "I've got some phone calls to make, questions to ask. I'll be in my room."

In her room, Jessica dumped the college brochures on the bed and reached for her phone. She needed to talk to someone.

She wanted to talk to Sam.

But Sam was the one person she couldn't call. Shouldn't call. Hearing his voice would just make moving on that much harder. Jess scrolled through her contacts, knowing that there was no one there she could talk to.

Her thumb stopped. She stared at the name in front of her. A name she had thought she would never call again.

"This is Brady, pastoral assistant here at Blue Earth Christian Church. Can I help you?"

Jessica waited for the familiar pang that came with the mention of his name, for the shiver of fear and threat of a flashback that could happen at the sound of his voice. That voice that had taunted her while she was pinned to the ceiling, bleeding. But it didn't come. The demon was long gone, and Brady was just—Brady. The only other person in the world who could really understand.

"Hi, Brady. It's Jess. I—did you say 'pastoral assistant?'"

Brady chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Not what you expected. My parents are really confused, but they've accepted it. I'm starting seminary in the fall. In four years, I'll be a full-fledged minister."

"Wow." Jess felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "You know, you might be good at that. If you try."

"Oh, I'm trying. With Pastor Jim gone, there's no one else here who understands, but not all of the hunters got the word that he had passed so they kept sending people here for help. You know, the ones who need someone to talk to about all the crazy things they just saw."

"And you help them?"

She could hear Brady's shrug. "I try. At least they have someone to talk to who understands. I'm learning about theology by day, and demons by night. It's a bit weird sometimes."

Jess snorted. "Yeah. I'll bet. You said seminary—is there a college out there?"

"It's close enough. It's not the best school, but a degree is a degree, right?"

"Right." Jess nodded, an idea forming in her mind. "Tell me about this school."

o0o

(set during "Simon Says")

"So this guy can literally get anything he wants?" Sam picked at his salad, keeping his voice low so that the rest of the diner could not overhear their conversation. The blitzed tone in Dean's voice when he called Sam to say he'd let someone else drive the Impala away was still ringing in his head.

"He told me to get out of the car, and I just—I handed over the keys with a smile." Dean wasn't smiling now. He looked ready to commit murder, all he needed was the appropriate victim. The only reason he was sitting in a diner right now, tearing into a burger instead to tearing the town apart to search for this guy, was because they'd found the Impala again safe and sound. "If he can do that, he can do anything. I bet he could walk right into the Pentagon. But he uses it to steal coffee."

Sam glared at a piece of cucumber as if it had offended him. "And make people kill themselves." The visions were still fresh in his mind.

"Hey, we don't know that he connected to the demon or your-"

"Don't we, Dean? Because my visions only seem to be about people who are connected to the demon, and they're all-"

"Sam, you don't have any Jedi-mind tricks, ok? So it's not connected."

"I could move things like Max. How do you know I can't do this, too?"

"Because when I'm done eating this burger, I'm ordering a side of bacon and nachos. You'll bitch about how I'll have a heart attack when I'm forty, but you and your bitchface can't stop me."

Sam snorted. Dean just bit into his burger again, chewing loudly. "It's so good, Sam. What do you want with that salad, anyway?"

"It's good for you."

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Nothing. It didn't even feel like you were trying. Come one, Sam. Make me put the burger down!"

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean burped and began to chew with his mouth open. Sam narrowed his eyes, glaring at his brother. "You really want me to try using mind control?"

"I'm just saying, Sam. You won't know it's all connected unless you can learn this trick, too. And I'm not putting this burger down." Dean licked a glob of ketchup off his lips.

"Fine. Put the burger down." Dean continued to eat, his eyes taunting Sam. Sam glared, and reached down into himself, to the place where the power that could move object rested. " _Put the burger down, Dean. Eat a salad._ "

The burger landed on Dean's plate as Dean swiped Sam's fork, pulled the salad plate across the table, and took a giant bite of lettuce. He made a face, but kept eating with the same enthusiasm he had given the burger. "Dude, this is disgusting!" Dean shoveled anther fork full into his mouth. "Completely gross!"

"Stop!" Sam shouted. Half the diner turned to stare, and Sam tried to shrink into his seat. He looked across the table. Dean was still eating salad.

"Dude, figure it out. I don't want any more of this."

" _Stop_." Sam's tone was quiet, but the power he put behind the word was as strong as ever. Dean set his fork down, spit his half-chewed mouthful of salad into a napkin, and sucked down half his soda.

"You are never eating salad again. As your big brother, it's my job to save you from the truly terrible things in life, and that was truly terrible." Dean shook his head and took another drink.

"It's all connected." Sam slumped back in his seat. "All of it."

"Yeah. Well. Good to know." Dean scooped up the remnants of his burger. "Don't do that again."

o0o

Sam sat alone in the motel room, phone clasped in both hands. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of the screen and the thin crack of light coming through the bathroom door. Dean was in there, taking the longest shower in the history of Winchester showers.

He hadn't come out yet because he couldn't face Sam. Couldn't put on a convincing face to make his little brother believe that he wasn't scared. Didn't quite know how to be in the same space as the boy who had collected yet another strange power.

 _Don't to that again_. Sam knew Dean hadn't just been referring to the salad he'd forced his brother to eat. No, Dean had meant that Sam wasn't to used his new mind-control power on his brother—or anyone—again.

But Sam hadn't had a choice. The headache still lingered from his latest demonstration of power. Andy's evil twin had been trying to march a girl to her death, and Andy had overridden that command to bring her back down. So when Sam had realized that Webber was in Dean's head, about to make his brother kill himself—what was he supposed to do?

Dean had thanked him for stopping it. But there was a look in his eye, that same look he'd had when he'd confessed under Andy's demand for the truth that this was all starting to freak him out and he didn't know what to think anymore.

That was why Dean was avoiding him. Why his brother was taking the world's longest shower. He didn't want to leave Sam alone, but after Sam had proven he could make Dean do anything—Dean didn't really want to be with him right now, either.

Just like Jessica didn't want to be with him.

Sam stared at the name in his contacts list. In the face of Dean's silence, she was the one person he wanted to talk to. She had always had a way of making him feel at ease. But he couldn't call. He should have deleted her number when she left. She had made it clear that she wanted out, and he had resolved to let her.

Sam flicked his way up the list to a different number. Mr. Moore. He hadn't really used that one since the summer he had spent working as in intern under Jessica's father at the Sheriff's dept.

What time was it out in California? With the time change, it might not be too late yet.

The voice that answered the phone didn't have a trace of sleep in it, only confusion. "Sam, is that you?"

"Mr. Moore! Yeah. Uh—sorry, maybe I shouldn't be calling."

"No, it's alright." Brian's tone was soothing. "Is everything ok?"

"Yes, sir. I just-" I might be turning into a monster and I'm kind of freaking out and I need someone to talk to. That didn't quite seem like the right thing to say. "I just wanted to see if Jessica got home ok. See how she's doing. Only don't—don't tell her I called. Please?"

"Jessica is fine, Sam. She got home a few weeks ago, and we were able to get her enrolled in the fall semester at her new school. She's moving on."

Sam winced at those last words. A not-too-subtle reminder that she wasn't his girlfriend anymore. She wasn't part of his life anymore. "Right. Good. That's—I'm glad she's ok."

"Me too. Are you ok, Sam?"

Sam's voice caught in his throat. _No! Nothing is ok. Nothing has been ok since the fire. Since I had a fight with my dad. Since Mom died_. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." Sam flipped the phone shut before he could say anything else.

A path of light fell across him. Dean was standing in the bathroom doorway, hair still wet. "Who were you talking to."

Sam heaved a sigh and tossed his phone across the room to land in his duffle bag. "No one."

Dean's hand landed on Sam's shoulder, his grip tight and reassuring. "She's safe, Sam. They don't have any reason to come for her again."

"Yeah, I hope so."

Something tight unwound and relaxed in Sam's chest. Maybe Dean wasn't as freaked out as he had thought. Maybe, Dean didn't want to get away from him. Maybe, his big brother had just needed some space to think, which wasn't easy to get in their tiny motel room.

Friends, girls, they had all come and gone Sam's entire life. Dean had been the only constant in his life. As much as it hurt that Jess was gone, Sam was happy that it was his brother at his back in the middle of all of this.

He didn't want to say good-bye to Dean again, didn't want another three years of silence, ever.

When all of this was over-if this was ever over-would he be able to have a life and a girlfriend and eventually a family without having to leave his brother behind? Could Dean find a way to stop hunting, too?

Dean flopped down on the bed and picked up the remote, flipping through channels for a good movie. "Legally Blonde, ugh!" Dean made mock barfing sounds. "Did you guys study that one at law school?"

Sam rolled his eyes and settled back on his own bed, ready to veto whatever Dean picked next just because he could. "Yeah, Dean, I wrote a paper about how is presents classic examples of what not to do in a courtroom."

 _I'll find a way_. Jess might be moving on with her life, but that didn't mean that Sam had to give up on his dream. They would find this demon, and when it was dead, he would make Dean retire and get a real job while Sam went back to school. Dean would find a girlfriend and have a whole bunch of kids and Sam would be the world's best uncle.

He fell asleep halfway through _Ace Ventura,_ and dreamed of walking through the park pushing a stroller with one hand, the Colt held ready in the other while Dean led a squad of cub scouts on salt-ring drills.

o0o

"This is where you're staying now?" Jenna turned in a circle, taking in the small apartment with its faded paint and threadbare carpet. "It feels like a halfway house or something. I had to check in with the door monitor and everything." Jenna narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Don't tell me you have a curfew!"

"Ha. Ha. No. No curfew." Although Jess couldn't argue with the halfway house part. A half-way house for people recovering from encounters with the supernatural. There no rules, no curfew, and no mandated counseling or support groups. Just a bunch of people who had all seen the same things and needed to know someone else in the world would understand. "The price was right. And they're really selective around here."

The criteria for the selection was not something Jess was going to explain.

"Yeah. 'Must have survived life-altering trauma.' Jenna held up her fingers to make air quotes. "Everyone in this place looks shell-shocked."

"Life altering trauma," Jess repeated quietly. Maybe Jenna had a better grasp of this place than she thought. "Just be glad you don't qualify."

Jenna clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing what she had said. "I didn't—I mean-"

Jess shrugged. "It's ok. It's accurate. Besides. I fit in here."

"No you don't."

"Yes. I do."

Jenna crossed her arms and glared at her sister. "Jess, you gotta stop putting your life on pause."

"Pause?" Jessica blinked. "I'm moving forward! I ended things with Sam. I've got a part-time job. I'm finishing school-"

"At the local college? Jess, you were at Stanford!"

Jess felt her throat tighten. "Jenna, you know I couldn't go back to-"

"So? There are a hundred other better choices! UCLA! Berkley! There are tons of good schools that would love to have you. But no, you're here in nowhereseville because you're still stuck on _him_."

It took a moment for Jessica to process what her sister had just said. "Sam? You think this about Sam? Sam is gone. He has no idea where I am. We're over."

"Yeah, that's why you're hanging out with his former best friend. Because you're totally over him." Jenna shook her head. "This isn't a good place for you, Jess."

Her sister might have been right about the first point, but she was wrong about the second. There was no way to explain the sense of peace that Jessica had found here. The sense of relief at being able to share her story with someone who understood. The sense of purpose in helping other learn to cope. That job had helped keep Brady sane after everything.

"Maybe I have moved on! Brady and I are getting awfully close."

Jenna rolled her eyes in disgust. "Oh, please! I know you, Jess. You're still stuck on Sam. I hate to say it, but you need to go back to him."

"I thought you said I needed to dump him."

"Yeah, well, obviously that didn't work! I'm saying you need to pick one, sis, and stop pining."

"Pining?" Jessica made a sour face. "I am not pining!"

"They why are you here?" Jenna lifted her chin stubbornly.

"What is this, an intervention?" When you know you can't answer the question, deflect! Like little sister would really be fooled.

"Yeah. It is. And if you won't listen to me, I'm sure Mom would be happy to come out, too. We're all worried about you." Jenna paused, tapping her foot, considering. "Maybe I should just find Sam, drag him out here, and throw the two of you in a pit until you sort yourselves out."

"What?" Something in Jenna's tone caught Jess's ear.

"He's been calling, you know. Dad. Mom. Even me. He just asks how you are, then hangs up. Won't answer any questions, just wants to know you're ok. Seriously, what happened with you two?"

Jessica bit her lip. How could she possibly explain? This was why she had left again. She couldn't answer these questions. She couldn't lie as easily as Sam. Especially not to her family. "Sam is—mixed up in something bad. It's not his fault, but it's something he has to deal with now. I don't want to be involved but-"

"Ugh." Jenna dropped her head in her hands. "You're waiting until whatever freaky mobster his family pissed off stops threatening him and anyone he loves? How did your life become the sidestory of some weird action-adventure movie."

Jessica laughed. "I have no idea. What makes you think it's a mobster?"

Jenna shrugged. "What else would it be?" She dropped her arms and sighed. "How long are you going to wait? I mean, I know you. You're a modern woman, all strong and independent and ready to have a career, but you really want to get married and have a family, too."

A pang burned through the scar on Jessica's belly. Her sister did know her too well. After the doctors had told her she couldn't have children, she had started researching adoption. After she had finished her meltdown.

"You're right." Jessica squeezed her sister's hand. "But the only person I can see myself having that family with right now is Sam." Even though she hadn't told him yet that they would never have children of their own.

"Alright. Well, if you ever decide to give up on the guy and move on, you know where I'll be. Now, I've traveled halfway across the country and I'm starved." She started to flip through the takeout menu on the counter. "Where's good to eat?"

o0o

(Set after "Hunted")

"Hold still!" Dean clamped his hands on Sam's shoulder to make sure that his order was obeyed. He didn't let up even as Sam hissed in pain.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked, peering over his shoulder to try to get a look at the spot where a bit of debris had been embedded in his arm.

"Not as bad as it could be." Dean reached for the whiskey and held the bottle out to Sam. His brother took it and drank down a hefty amount.

They both knew this was gonna hurt. Dean could feel Sam trying not to tense up as he got ready to push his little brother's shoulder back into the socket. It had been dislocated when Gordon shoved him not just into but _through_ a wall.

Once Sam's shoulder was back in place, Dean tended to the cuts on his face and hands. But he couldn't tend to the wounded look in Sam's eyes.

"He was hunting me, Dean. He's still hunting kids like me. People with special powers."

"Yeah, well, he's crazy. Who turned out to be a monster in the end, huh?" Dean pulled needle through skin, and Sam closed his eyes. "Whatever whacked-out theories Gordon has, they don't mean anything. You hear me? You're not a monster, you're not evil, and you're not going to be."

Although, if Sam had used his powers instead of his hands, Dean wouldn't be sewing him up right now. If Sam could do things like throw people into walls and make a person obey his commands, they would have a serious advantage over the demons on their tail. And hunters like Gordon.

No. Playing with fire was always a bad idea.

Still. Dean remembered how it had felt to be strapped to that chair and hear Gordon's traps go off one after the other, each time thinking that Sam could be dead. He had rope burns on both wrists.

With demons and hunters after Sam, the kid needed more than a shotgun to defend himself. Not using his powers was like letting a grenade launcher or flamethrower gather dust in the trunk. They needed every weapon they could get in this fight.

Dean hissed as Sam poured whiskey over his raw wrists. "You got any healing powers yet?"

Sam snorted, shaking his head, but them paused. "You don't think we'd get that lucky, do you?"

Dean shrugged and held still while Sam wrapped bandages around his wrists. "You never know. You think about using your mind control or teleke-whatsit on Gordon?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

No. Of course not. They hadn't really talked about it, but both brothers had come to the silent agreement after the salad incident that Sam's powers were not something he should use deliberately. They were linked to the demon. They should be avoided.

Right?

Or was it time to start fighting fire with fire?

o0o

Jessica sat on the front steps of the church, playing with the set of keys in her hands. Brady had handed them to her on his way out. He had a class he couldn't miss, but there was a hunter coming to town who needed a favor. More specifically, the hunter needed access to one of the many tools and devices that Pastor Jim had left behind. The hunter wanted to catch a flight and couldn't wait. So Brady had asked Jess for a favor.

In the past few months spent here in Blue Earth, Jessica had been happy to help. She had baked cookies for the support group meetings. She had helped people find their way around town when they first arrived. She had sat with a crying girl, holding her hand while Brady finished a meeting until he was free to talk with her. She had been happy to help the survivors of hunts. But a hunter?

All she had to do was unlock a door. It had seemed like such an easy task when she agreed. But now, Jess wasn't so sure. She had left Sam to get away from hunting.

A car pulled into the church parking lot and a young woman stepped out. She was dressed in a smart suit, not the typical hunter uniform, with her long, dark hair braided down her back. She gave Jessica a warm smile and held out her hand.

Jessica returned the smile. "Hi! You must be Sarah."

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry I don't have time to stay and wait for Brady to be available. I've got a flight to catch."

"It's fine." Jessica held up the keys and nodded toward the church. "This way."

"Great. Do you think you could help me?" Sarah went around to the trunk and gestured to a large box there. "It's not heavy, just big and awkward."

"What's in it?"

"Cursed perambulator—that's like an old fashioned stroller." Sarah reached in to grab the corners of the box and Jess reached out to help her.

"So, how did you get mixed up in all of this?"

"Would you believe it all started with a date with the wrong guy? Don't get me wrong, he was a good guy! Very sweet. But he was hung up on someone else. He only asked me out to get information about a haunted painting."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Very romantic."

Sarah just smiled. "It was a little bit, actually. By the time I realized what was really happening, he'd told me his story. His girlfriend got hurt really bad, and he broke up with her because he wanted to keep all of this stuff away from her."

Jess's ears pricked. "That's a familiar story." Tale as old as time, wasn't it? Girl gets hurt, boy blames himself and leaves. It didn't have to be Sam. That was just what the ache inside her that missed him and wished for news wanted to hear. "What happened?"

"Well, after he and his brother dealt with the haunted painting, they left. But I couldn't stop seeing things, you know? Old wives' tales suddenly sounded like the truth, and when I heard about another antique that was 'cursed'-well, I couldn't just let someone else buy it and get killed."

"No," Jess agreed. She set her end of the box down to unlock the door to the basement where Pastor Jim—and now Brady—kept a small arsenal of tools that were effective against the supernatural. "So you left home to live on the road and hunt down cursed objects?"

"What? No!" Sarah shifted her weight as they tilted the box to go down the stairs. "As romantic as living on the road sounds, it's better left in the movies. That's not really for me. There are other ways to hunt, you know. I have a job and a house and I very rarely break the law." Sarah and Jess settled the box down on the floor and Sarah patted her purse. "No fake credit cards here. It helps that I help my dad run an antique business. I only have to burn one out of ten pieces that a buy, so we still turn a profit. It's just that I have an extra side-trip here and there. Like today."

Sarah took out her keys and broke the tape that held the box closed. "So how about you? How did you get mixed up in this?"

Jess stared, surprised by the question. Most people saw her scars and didn't bother to ask.

"I met the wrong guy." Except that he wasn't the wrong guy at all. "He has to hunt and I don't want to hunt—but I can't seem to get over him."

Now Sarah gave her a pitying look. "Don't wait for him to stop. From what I've heard, they rarely do. Move on. He probably has."

"No. He hasn't." She hoped he hadn't. "Hunting isn't a choice for him. He has to do it. Something evil is after him, this crazy demon that won't stop chasing him. He hasn't got a choice."

"That's terrible."

"It is." Jessica felt a catch in her throat. She watched as Sarah flipped through the old book of lore that Brady had left out, then picked up a piece of chalk to start writing strange symbols on the black canopy of the antique stroller. Her part was done. She could leave. This woman was a stranger—but for some reason, Jess found it easier to talk to a stranger than it had been to talk to her sister.

"I left him. Does that make me a bad person?"

Sarah looked up for her work, not quite sure how to respond.

"All I could see was the bad things. People dying. People grieving. Desecrating graves. It just—it was too much." Jess wiped a tear from her eye. "But you—how do you do it?"

Sarah shrugged. "I figure everything that I destroy makes room for someone to make something new. Who needs all this old stuff anyway? We can't all be hoarders. Vengeful spirits are stuck because they can't let go. So I have to do it for them." Sarah glanced at the book and read out a word that sounded like Latin. The sigil glowed for a moment, and then the perambulator began to melt. "Besides, sometimes it feels good to burn a priceless piece of really ugly art!"

Jessica laughed. "It is pretty ugly. How much was it worth?"

Sarah just shook her head. "You don't want to know."

 **Well, Jessica is learning more about the hunting world, and Sam is learning more about his powers. Neither is quite ready to take the next step, though. What do you think of Sarah hunting as a side-job? What will it take to get Sam to start using how powers and see what he can do when he really tries? What will it take to get Jessica back in Sam's life?**

 **Please review!**


	11. All in

**Chapter Eleven: All in**

(Set during Born Under A Bad Sign)

A deep, heavy metal chord echoed across Jessica's apartment. She looked up from her homework, ears homing in on the source of the sound. It wasn't coming from the neighbor or even the street outside the window. It was coming from her phone, the same chords playing in a loop. A ringtone.

It wasn't a ringtone Jess would have chosen. It wasn't one she would have considered downloading. But there it was, blasting out of her phone as if to invite her to a Metallica concert.

"What?" Jessica grabbed her phone. No, there was no mistake. Her phone was blasting out a Metallica ringtone. The music paused, and then started again as the caller ran into her voicemail message, hung up, and called back again.

"Hello?"

"Jessica. Have you seen Sam?"

"Dean?" Jessica could barely process the voice she was hearing, much less the question he had asked.

"Look. I'm sorry to call you-"

"Dean, did you change the ringtone in my phone for your number?"

"What? Oh yeah! Good song." She could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice, but it vanished a moment later. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you but-"

"When exactly did you have time alone with my phone?"

"Um—when you were having some alone time with my brother." Dean's tone sounded as if he felt the answer should be obvious.

"Why did you-"

"Jessica, Sam's missing." Dean cut her off firmly, all trace of humor gone. "Have you heard from him?"

"Sam's missing?"

"Yeah. A week ago when I woke up he was just gone. I'm worried something has happened to him. If you see him, I need you to call me."

 _Sam is in trouble_. She knew it would happen at some point. It was a fact she had never truly forgotten. It was the reason she had moved so far away from anything that contained a memory of her time with Sam. She couldn't think of him because she couldn't think of what could be happening to him now.

She had thought so carefully about her decision to go talk to Brady, and then to go find Sam. She had considered every angle of the situation when she decided to leave him again. Now, there was nothing left to think about. She didn't know if it was a good idea, and she didn't know if she could make a difference. But she still loved Sam, and that meant she had to ask.

"Dean, where are you?"

o0o

"There's a pit stop up ahead in five miles. We should pull over there." Jessica looked up from the map she was reading to point the road sign out to Dean.

"You had a pit stop two hours ago. I warned you not to drink too much. We can make at least a hundred more miles before we need to find a motel." He had gone over the rules of the road with Jessica before he ever let her into his car. Let her sit in the seat that Sam normally occupied.

Would occupy again. As soon as they found him.

"Your stomach just growled for about the fifth time." Jessica tapped on the window. "We're pulling over and putting food in it before your blood sugar drops and you pass out one me."

"I'm not-" Dean had told her that the driver was boss. The driver picked the music, and the pit stops, and the speed. Apparently, she hadn't been listening.

"Ignoring your body so that you can push through and find Sam? Look, whatever has happened to him, he's in trouble. When we get there, I want you in fighting shape. Unless you think I can handle whatever monster took him all by myself."

Dean grunted, but shifted the steering wheel to the right when the turn came up, pulling them off the road at a gas station. As soon as the smell of hot dogs and nachos hit him, his stomach stood up on its hind legs and begged, making another loud, gurgling sound.

Dean, ignoring his stomach. If Sam were here, he would have made a comment about how that signified the end of the world.

But Sam wasn't here.

"I'll fill her up, you feed yourself and grab something for me." Jessica was already halfway out of the car, her credit card ready to pay the pump. Normally, Dean would have protested at the idea of anyone else putting fuel in his baby. But she was right; they could be on the road that much faster if Dean ate while she pumped gas.

He had to admit that having Jessica along hadn't slowed down his search for Sam one bit.

Even though it hadn't helped, either. They had been on the road for a week, and still had no leads. Dean was about to lose his mind with worry. Might have lost it already if Jessica hadn't been there to keep him fed, watered, and threaten to knock him out when it was time to sleep.

Dean was starting to see what his brother had been so attracted to in this girl. She had grown up in a happy family with a normal life, and was as different from Dean in just about ever way he could see. But they had one thing in common; she seemed to care about Sam as much as he did.

Last week, Dean would have said that was impossible. No one cared about Sam as much as his big brother. Dean found himself pausing to search the shelves of the convenience store for something truly edible, rather than just grabbing the first thing that came to hand. She hadn't mentioned that she was hungry, too, but she had to be. She'd been on the road just as long as Dean.

He returned to the car with armful of packaged food.

"Pizza, beef jerky, hey—I even found an apple." Dean handed Jess a handful of food as she settled the pump back into its socket. "Best dinner a gas station has to offer."

She crinkled her nose, but took the food and bit into the pizza. "How do you manage to eat this stuff every day? I mean, I love pizza as much as the next girl, but—right now, I'd be happy never to have another bite of gas station food ever again."

Dean slid into the driver's seat and put the Impala back in gear. "You get used to it. Sammy didn't though, he eats salad as often as he can get it." Dean's lips pressed into a tight line as he pulled the Impala back onto the highway.

Jessica finished her pizza and then took up the map again. She had fallen into Sam's role as navigator with ease, charting the best path through the back-roads while Dean kept his focus on the steering. It was part of why he'd been able to cover so much ground this week.

Not that it had done them any good.

Now, Jess glared at the map as if it were hiding a demon in the creases.

"You know, this is never going to work."

"We'll find him." It didn't sound any more reassuring when he said it out loud than when he repeated it to himself over and over again, but he had to say it anyway. One way or another, it would be true. They would find Sam.

"Yes. I know, but—not like this." Jessica held up the map. "We're just trying to cover as much ground as possible, but this map. It's full of empty spaces. There is no way that we can get close to covering enough ground to really have a chance of finding Sam."

There were times when Jessica's logic had been extremely helpful. Dean already felt better for having stopped for a snack. But there were times when it was downright uncomfortable. Like now.

Dean knew better than anyone that there was no method to his madness. This search depended on hitting a lucky break, running into an elusive clue. He could drive the rest of his natural life and still not search every town on the map. But in lieu of a better option, he had to try.

"Hey, if you want out, just say the word and I'll drop you and the nearest airport." Dean felt a wrench in his guts as he said it. As awful as this entire week had been, it had been nice to have someone else with him, to know that he didn't have to face this alone.

"Will you stop trying to get rid of me already? I'm not going anywhere."

"Ok. So we keep looking."

"Yeah, but looking won't help." Jess folded the map and set it aside. "I think we need to start asking the right people for information."

"I've asked everyone I know!" Dean had called every number in his phone, in his Dad's phone, and ever number that Ellen Harvelle had been willing to give him. Twice. Some of them three times. A few of them probably weren't going to answer their phone for his number again.

"Not everyone. Dean, hunters won't know where Sam is because hunters didn't take him. Something else did. You told met that you met other people with powers like Sam's, and they all seem connected to this demon. The one with yellow eyes. So why don't we summon it?"

Dean hit the brakes so hard his chest banged against the steering wheel. Jess had to brace herself against the dash to keep from hitting her nose as Dean pulled over onto the shoulder.

"You want to summon that thing? You?" Dean had seen people mauled by monsters. He had seen people survive demon possession. He had never seen anyone walking around with as many scars as Jessica carried.

"It makes sense. The demon wants Sam for some reason. So the demon might want to help us find him and keep him alive. Or—the demon is the one who kidnapped him."

"We can't summon it. We don't know its name."

"Your dad summoned it."

 _Yeah, and he wound up dead less than an hour later_. Dean gripped the steering wheel tight, not quite believing that he was actually having this conversation. "The demon is the only one who can give us answers, yes. But we don't have the Colt. We have no reason for that thing to take us seriously or answer our questions. No. It's suicide."

Dean wasn't that desperate. Yet. "We'll find Sam another way."

"What other way?" Jessica demanded.

Dean leaned his head back against the seat, drawing in a deep breath. He needed sleep. He needed rest, real rest, which he hadn't gotten for over a week. Not since Sammy vanished.

It was like having Dad or Sam with him again. The same gung-ho attitude. The same disregard for the consequences. "Look, Jessica. I appreciate that you are here and I appreciate that you are willing to help. But if you are going to be effective at this job, you have to do it the right way. You can't just jump in with guns blazing all the time. You'll just get yourself killed and be no good to anyone that way. I would love to summon this demon and put a bullet in its brain. But I don't have a way to kill it and I don't have a way to control it. So until that happens, that option is off the table. We're no good to Sam if that thing gets us first."

"Right. You're right." Jessica nodded, no hint of argument in her expression. Ok, so maybe not quite like Sam or Dad. She picked up the map again. "Where to next?"

o0o

The feeling of wrongness had niggled at Jessica ever since Sam called. At first, she had been to relieved to pay any attention to it. After two weeks of desperate searching, she didn't question why Sam would suddenly call his brother out of the blue. She was just happy that they had found him. He was safe. In one piece. Thrilled and amazed to see her, and looking completely lost as they reconstructed the events of the past two weeks.

Sam had done things that he did not remember. He had done things entirely out of character, and it wasn't just killing Steve Waddell. Driving a little blue bug, smoking and drinking..those weren't things Sam would do.

But Jessica remember who had done things like that. Someone who had been a nice guy the first two years she new him, and did a complete personality flip for no apparent reason. Brady had smoked and drank those last few months. During the time when he had been possessed.

A time he could barely remember. It was a blank.

Lost memory. Strange behavior. A bloody murder. All of the pieces were the same.

Now, she wanted Sam hold out a gun to his brother and beg him to pull the trigger. She held her breath, watching as the horrible scene played out. She may as well have been a fly on the wall for all of the attention they paid her.

They might not see her, but she saw them. She saw the way Sam's shoulder's shifted when he dropped the act. She heard the shift in his tone before the butt of the gun collided with Dean's head.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance."

He didn't see her reach into her duffle and twist off the cap of her flask of holy water. She had filled it up before leaving Blue Earth, have been assured that holy water had no expiration date. It was as potent as the day it had been blessed.

Sam didn't bother to take a bag on his way out. His eyes passed over Jessica as if she wasn't there. She didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. She was leverage and nothing more. They didn't care that she was still alive; she had served her purpose on the day of the fire. That was why Sam—no. That was not Sam. That was why the thing that was possessing Sam didn't bother to look for the flask in her hand, didn't see the spray of holy water in time to dodge.

Sam's skin hissed and the demon screamed in rage and pain. Jessica threw herself between him and the door. If the demon walked out of this room with Sam's body, who knew when they would see him again?

"You're not going anywhere."

Hateful black eyes glared at her out of Sam's face. "You! You're supposed to be dead, you little slut. I think its about time I finished the job."

"Exoricamouste-" Jessica flung the holy water again and began to recite the exorcism she had memorized on her first day in Blue Earth. She recited it every night instead of saying her prayers, just to make sure that the words would never be forgotten. You never knew when they might be needed.

The demon howled and writhed, but no black smoke appeared in Sam's mouth. After a moment, the demon gave her a knowing grin and laughed. "Nice try, bitch. Now try this."

With one gesture from the demon, Jess found herself pinned to the wall again. For an awful moment she was back in their apartment at Palo Alto.

"No." Dean had staggered to his feet, one hand holding the back of his head. He lifted a crowbar taken from his duffel bag and slammed it into Sam's back. His brother staggered, then dropped to his knees. One more smack, and Sam lay flat on his face.

Jessica dropped to the ground, released from the demon's telekinetic grip. She scrambled to Sam's side, feeling for a pulse, then checking for blood.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean muttered. He dropped the crowbar and hovered next to his brother. "I didn't have a choice." Dean tossed the keys to the Impala to Jessica. "We need to move fast, he won't be out very long. Bring the car up to the door and open the trunk. Draw a devil's trap inside."

"Where are we going? Why didn't that exorcism work?"

"I have no idea. That's why were going to see Bobby. He's the best expert on demons I know." Dean tilted Sam's unconscious body and hefted it over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Hey, Jess. You did good."

A small smile flicked across Jess' face. "Thanks."

o0o

It was like waking up from a nightmare, except he wasn't in his bed. He was on the floor in Bobby's house, staring up at a busted devil's trap. His arm hurt like hell, and so did his head. Dean was on the floor next to him, looking worse for wear.

"Did I miss something?"

Dean grimaced, reached up, and slugged him.

Sam put a hand to his jaw and looked around the room again. Bobby was there, looking concerned, and behind him- "Jessica?"

This was wrong. Everything was wrong. He didn't know how he got here, but he remembered doing things he hadn't wanted to do. He didn't know why Jessica was here, but that was her voice, her face, looking at him with wary eyes.

"It's him now, isn't it?"

"Should be." Bobby stepped aside and Jessica dropped to her knees next to Sam. She place an ice pack on the burn on his arm and pushed his hair out of his eyes. It was so good to be close to her again, to feel her skin on his, to smell the familiar scent of her shampoo.

Why was she here?

"Are you ok?"

Sam stared at the woman in front of him. She looked so calm, so self-assured in the middle of the chaotic mess that was Bobby's library. Books were scattered across the floor. Chipped paint fell from the ceiling. But Jessica looked like it was just another day at school. Sam closed his eyes and opened them again, but the scene did not change. "You're here."

"Yes. Can you get up? You'd be more comfortable on the couch."

Sam put his hand on her shoulder. She wasn't a ghost or a figment of his imagination. She was warm and real and solid and _here_. "Why are you here?"

"Because Dean said you were in trouble."

"But you left."

"I did."

"What happened?"

"A demon possessed you and ran away with you." Dean was hauling himself up off the floor and ransomed a second ice pack from Bobby's freezer for his own face. "Jessica helped me look for you. It's been two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Sam repeated. He stared at Jess again. "Why? Why would you-you wanted to be away from all this."

"I still love you, Sam Winchester, and that means that I couldn't do nothing when I knew you were in trouble." She stepped away and came back with Bobby's first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey, which she poured into a rag. "What happened to the antiseptic ointment I bought?"

Bobby shrugged. "Used it up, I guess."

"Well then I'll have to fetch more. But this time you're paying for it. Really. Why do you use whiskey when there is cheaper stuff at the drugstore?"

"Because it don't taste as good." Dean waited until Jessica was done cleaning Sam's cuts and stole the whiskey bottle to take a large gulp.

"Jess, you don't need to restock the first aid kit before you leave-"

Jessica pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm not leaving, Sam. I'm not going anywhere until this is over."

Bobby and Dean shared a concerned look. "It is over. Demon's gone," Bobby said.

Jessica finished with Sam and moved on to Dean. He ducked away from her hand in surprise, but she caught hold of his head and cleaned his cuts, too. "I'm not talking about this demon. I'm talking about _the_ demon. The one with the yellow eyes. The one who started all of this." Jessica set the whiskey aside and pulled out a butterfly bandage to tape across Dean's cut. "Like it or not, I'm part of this now. I'm not going anywhere until it's over."

 **What do you think of Jessica and Dean as a hunting team? What do you think of Jessica's idea to summon the demon? The story is getting closer to the season two finale at Cold Oak. Will Sam learn to use his powers? Will Jessica's presence change anything?**

 **Please Review!**


	12. Something to fight for

**Chapter Twelve: Something to fight for**

Bobby Singer had seen his fair share of Winchester family fights. For some reason, they liked to drag their collective dysfunction to his home. They had a perfectly good car, and spent enough time in it to drive each other up the wall. they logged enough hours on the road, why not fight there? Why wait until they came here?

Jessica Moore would fit into the Winchester family just fine. She rolled up her sleeves and waded into the bloodbath without batting an eye. Her fierce glare was leveled at Dean with not hint of backing down.

"I say it's the only idea that makes sense!"

"First you want to summon the damn thing, and now this? No!" Dean returned Jessica's glare with one that could have lit a fire without the need for a Zippo. "This is not a discussion. It is not a debate. I ate a friggin salad, and it was awful! No."

Salad? Bobby frowned at his beer, not sure he was following the conversation correctly.

Jessica drew in a breath to fire off a fierce retort, but Sam stepped between them.

"Hey, this is my decision! They're my powers!"

Jessica and Dean both turned twin glares on Sam.

"Sammy, this is ridiculous! We both know it's a bad idea. The demon wants you to use your powers. We can't play its game!"

"The demon wants Sam to do something for it, yes. But power is just power! It's not good or bad. Sam can choose to use his power to fight the demon. He's the only one who can!"

Bobby snorted. Him and any of the other special children that Sam kept bumping into. But the girl had a point. If all of the special children decided to work together against the demon, they could put up a good fight. But there had to be a catch. It was a demon. There was always a catch.

"Sam's not doing anything with his powers until we know more about what's going on!"

"Sam's powers might be the only way we figure out what is going on!"

Bobby remained as quiet as possible in his corner of the kitchen. Best if they didn't remember that he was here and ask him to weigh in on this little debate. There was no good answer, as far as he could tell.

"Sam's powers! _Sam's_ powers!" Sam yelled. "This is happening to me and I decide what to do about it. Not you!" He jabbed a finger at his brother, then turned to Jess. "And not you."

"Sammy, you can't-" Dean started, but his little brother cut him off.

"I know."

"What!" Jess was surprised.

Sam turned to Jessica, shrinking in on himself again. "Jess—I can't. I remember what happened when I was possessed. I remember how it felt to shove you up against that wall. The look on your face-"

She reached forward to cup a hand around the back of his neck. "I know that wasn't you."

Sam shook his head. "That's not the point. I don't ever want to see you look at me that way again. And the way I felt, the power inside me when the demon did those things—it felt just the same as when I use my power like Max or Andy. I'm not doing it again."

"Sam-"

"It's evil, Jess. It's evil inside of me and I can't-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Dean's gruff voice overrode Sam's. He glowered at his brother with the concerned anger that is usually reserved for a parent. "Sammy, that demon inside you was evil. Nothing else."

"How do you know that, Dean?"

The tension in the air was thick, and someone was going to snap. Soon. Bobby sense his moment had come.

"Well, if you're all done moaning and groaning, there's work to do! I caught wind of a case out in Idaho. Might be a black dog. Might be a werewolf. Hard to tell." Bobby passed Dean the printout of the news clipping he had found. "Either way, it's worth looking into."

Dean latched onto the news, jettisoning the shreds of their conversation as fast as he could. "Alright then. We'd better hit the road. Are you packed, Jess?"

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Packed for what? You think I'm driving halfway across the country with you just to tromp around in the woods and shoot at things?"

"Hey! Hunting is a little bit more than that!"

Sam looked stricken. "Jess—you said-"

"I said I wasn't leaving you. As in, this relationship. I said nothing about an endless road trip. I'm here to get to the bottom of this demon thing, Sam. I know! I know, you have to hunt because that's where the demons want you. They want you so busy chasing after everything else that you don't have time to take a good look at what they're up to. So that's my job."

Bobby took another long pull on his beer. This conversation had gotten off track again, and fast. "Come again? And where exactly do you plan to stay while you're doing this?"

Jessica fixed him with a stern eye. "Well, you do have the best library. Everyone agrees."

Well, she sure knew how to butter him up. "If the answers were in a book I've got, I'd have found it by now. Besides, I don't remember inviting you to stay."

"Are you throwing me out?"

One look at Sam's face told him what the 'correct' answer to _that_ question ought to be. Bobby grunted. There was no use arguing with a Winchester. Bobby grunted and looked at Jessica. "Right. Well, I've got a project I've been meaning to work on down in the basement, and I could use an extra hand. You can stay so long as you make yourself useful."

Jessica smiled and hugged him, placing a quick peck on his cheek. Bobby hoped she couldn't see his blush under all his stubble. She scurried off to the kitchen to see if there was any food to pack for the boys as they headed back out on the road. Bobby finished his beer, watching them negotiate their farewells.

Winchesters. John was gone, the boys were grown, and Bobby still found himself babysitting.

o0o

"I have to admit, your girlfriend knows what she is doing." Dean wiped cookie crumbs from his mouth and fished another out of the bag that Jessica had provided on their last visit to Bobby's. She gave them a fresh supply every time they visited.

And they visited often. Almost every other week, Dean made sure that the Impala made its way through Sioux Falls and stopped for at least a few hours. He'd grumbled about going so far out of their way at first, but Jessica's baking had soon silenced him. That, and the smile that was back on Sam's face. Even though he only saw her for a day or two out of the month, Sam seemed happier. The haunted look was gone from his face, replaced by something Dean hadn't seen in a long time; hope.

Was that Jessica's plan all along? Had she known that just a few words to Sam every now and then, reminders of normal life and the assurance that he could have one again after all this was over, would make his little brother fight harder, stronger, and smarter?

Going a few extra miles out of the way every few weeks was more than worth hearing Sammy laugh again. Getting Sam to sing along to the radio again. From the first moment he saw her, Dean had been worried that Sam's girlfriend would replace him. Would put a pace between the brothers that Dean could not bridge. But it was just the opposite. Having Jessica around made Sam happy and hopeful, and that meant that his little brother could have fun again.

Dean patted his belly, nothing that the button on his jean's was getting tight. Perhaps he should lay off the cookies? Or maybe just buy new pants.

"She's certainly made more progress than we have." Sam was hunched over a stack of notes that Jessica had provided on their last visit. She had solicited every one of Bobby's contacts for information, and then had branched out, turning up hunters that Sam and Dean had never heard of. "Brady met a family of hunters named Campbell, and they gave Jess a photocopy of the journal of Samuel Colt."

Dean nearly hit the brakes. "Colt? As in the Colt?"

Sam nodded. "It talks about the gun, but not how he made it. But the Campbells are searching for more information. Jessica is hoping that we can find a way to make more bullets. If we ever get the gun back, there's only one left."

That was the advantage of having Jessica ask all the questions. She didn't have a super-freaky power to hide, and no reason for hunters to come after her. Sam and Dean were limited by keeping Sam's secret. Jessica could just convince the other hunters that she wanted revenge on the demon who had burned her.

Which wasn't really lie, either.

"Listen to this! There re four demons with yellow eyes."

"Four?" Dean frowned.

Sam continued, "But only one really gets involved with humans. There are a bunch of medieval records from about a thousand years ago. Sarah found them through a contact she has in Europe. She's sending Jess a copy, so we should know more in a few weeks. We might even get the name of the demon."

Dean's stomach flipped. The name of the demon meant they would have a way to summon it. Samuel Colt's journal meant they might find a way to kill it.

Might, Dean reminded himself, but it was too late, his hopes were up.

Was it possible that there could be an end to all this?

When that day came, and Sam got married to Jessica, where would that leave Dean? He frowned. Over the past year, he had realized that killing the demon that had killed his mom was not his first priority. Taking care of his family was. Being with his family was.

When Sam stops hunting, what will I do? He could open a mechanic shop like Dad had done, long ago in Lebanon. He could work with Bobby in the scrapyard. For the first time, Dean allowed himself to think of what life would look like after hunting.

He realized that it didn't look too bad at all. With a smile on his face, Dean pulled up to a small diner that sat just off the highway and handed Sam a wad of cash, forcing his little brother out of his pile of research.

"Dont forget the extra onions!"

"I have to live with you and your extra onions!" Sam snapped back. Dean just grinned.

He didn't smell the sulfur or see the lights flicker until it was too late.

 **What do you think of Jessica's strategy? Will things actually turn out for the better? Or will they get worse?**

 **Please review!**


	13. At the Crossroads

**At the Crossroads**

(Set during All Hell Breaks Loose part 2, after Sam has been killed by Jake at Cold Oak)

 _What am I supposed to do?_

Jessica felt the words cut through her soul, felt the pain as they landed on her ears, and felt her eyes well with tears again. Dean had been a different person since Sam went missing, driven with such focus that it had frightened her. Jessica still wasn't sure how they had managed to arrive in Cold Oak alive at the speed Dean had been driving.

After he lost his father last year, Jessica had watched Dean shrink. His laughter had lost some of its ease. His smile rarely touched his eyes. Except when Sam was around. Sam was the antidote to Dean's grief, just as Dean was the antidote to Sam's. Over the past year, Jessica had watched them heal each other and find a new balance. One that included her.

Life on the road. It wasn't what she had wanted. It was something she had tried to escape, after all. She still wasn't sure how she had gotten pulled back into all this. Sometimes, she wasn't sure if the past two years had even been real. What kind of life was this?

But now, with Sam's body growing cold in the other room, her entire perspective had shifted. His life was gone, snuffed out in minutes by a well-placed knife and the worst luck possible. If they had gotten there five minutes sooner, Sam might still be alive.

Jessica's stomach turned sour as she remembered how she had chided Dean for his speed and asked him to slow down.

 _We won't be able to help him if we don't arrive alive._

 _We won't be able to help him if we don't arrive in time_.

The floor shook as Dean stomped through the room. He didn't even glance at Jessica. Did he even realize that she was still here? Did he remember that she had refused to leave with Bobby? One look at Dean's face told her that Sam's brother wasn't seeing the world around him. No, there was only one thing in his sight.

Whatever it was he had decided he was supposed to do.

The door to the Impala screamed as Dean wrenched it open. The bang as he slammed it was louder than a gunshot. The sounds dumped Jessica on her feet. Dean would never treat his car like that. What was he doing? Where was he going?

The tires squealed as Dean pealed out of the driveway. Jessica didn't have time to think. She grabbed her keys and ran, suddenly very grateful that Bobby had insisted on getting a rental for her. The old scrapper had not been willing to leave her alone with Dean and no way to get herself out of there, should she need to go.

The Impala careened down the road, taillights bouncing with each pothole. It was as if Dean was driving deliberately to make the ride as uncomfortable as possible. Each lurch an accent to the pain that both of them felt. Jessica had to pour all of her focus into the drive just to keep up in her little rental with its plastic frame and front-wheel drive. It didn't have nearly the traction the Impala did on these dirt roads, and more than once she fears she might fishtail off into the ditch.

Thankfully, Dean didn't go far. He stopped the car at the first crossing. Jessica doused her headlights and pulled in silently behind him, but once again Dean did not bother to notice her presence. His eyes were facing forward, no backward glances. As if he feared that if he veered away from the course of action, he would lose his way and never find it again.

 _Crossroads_. Jessica watched as Dean dug a small hole, buried a box inside of it, and waited.

o0o

 _Dean Winchester has called_.

The shout went through the crossroads network like a chill up her spine. The demon smiled, her red eyes reflecting the flames of Hell. This was the call she had been waiting for all her life. This was her time to shine.

Closing a deal was an art. Even though they all came to the crossroads knowing what the deal would cost, everyone had second thoughts. The key was to reel them in slowly. It was a thing of beauty, the look in a man's face when he finally realized he was desperate enough to say yes and seal the deal with a kiss.

She smiled as she stepped closer to Dean Winchester, savoring the look of desperation in his eyes. It had almost been too easy. She could ask for anything at all right now, and Dean Winchester would sign on the dotted line. He looked sick at the thought of kissing her, and wasn't that part of the fun? She leaned in for the kiss, ready for the flash of power that would come when his soul landed in her hands.

Before their lips could touch, Dean's head jerked back. His eyes rolled and he flopped like a fish on a hook for a minute before collapsing in the dirt. A girl stood behind him, her eyes wide as if she could not believe what she had just done. She looked up at the demon and took a step back.

"Well, well, well." The demon stepped over Dean's body, letting her rage burn in her eyes. "Do you know what you just did? I was about to save a life, raise the dead! Now Sam Winchester is going to rot, and it's all your fault!"

Jessica lifted her chin defiantly. "Why? My soul isn't good enough?"

The demon paused, goosebumps working their way up her spine. This wasn't what the boss had ordered. But a deal's a deal. She narrowed her eyes at the girl, her twisted scars and hopeful eyes. How had this girl managed to ride with the Winchesters, and still have hope? Didn't she know they were doomed?

The demon quirked an eyebrow. "You? Little Jessica Moore, the innocent girl who was supposed to die? You want to make a deal?"

Jessica raised her chin defiantly. "Yes."

The demon stepped close and inhaled the sweet scent of the girl's soul. It stung the demon's twisted, black heart. "You smell like righteousness." _Good_. The demon circled Jessica and then kicked Dean's limp body. "You're gonna have to pay for that, you know. I worked hard on that deal and then you messed it up."

Jessica shivered. "What do you mean?"

"I was going to give Dean Winchester one year, but if you are asking me to bring Sam back so that he and his brother can hunt our kind together for the rest of their lives? That's going to cost you that year, dear. If you want Sam to breath again, your contract comes due now."

o0o

Everything hurt. Dean groaned and rolled over, spitting dirt out of his mouth. He tried to think of what had happened. Had he kissed the demon? Was Sam alive?

Something warm and wet touched Dean's hand. He shifted, his limbs struggling to obey. He lifted his hand and saw red. Blood.

Not mine. Despite the sharp pain that seemed to be infesting every single cell in his body at the moment, Dean knew he wasn't bleeding. That was a different kind of pain. He shifted to a sitting position, following the trail of blood. It was still running, dripping out of Jessica's side.

What was left of her side. She lay spread-eagle across the crossroads, her flesh stripped down to ribbons, a pool of blood growing beneath her. Dean gasped and scrambled to her side, cupping her head in his hand.

"Jessica? What?"

A gurgle rose in her throat, blood coated her lips, and then she was still. Dean felt his heart skip a beat.

What happened?

A taser lay on the ground next to her hand. Dean started at it for a moment, trying desperately not to understand.

In his pocket, his phone rang. Dean fished it out and flipped it open to hear the one sound he cared about most in the entire world. Sam's voice.

"Dean?"

"Sammy!" Dean's own voice was hoarse, and he wasn't quite sure how he managed to form the word. His mind was reeling. He took a deep breath and latched onto the one sound of his brother's voice.

 _Sam is alive_. That was all that mattered.

But Jessica's blood growing cold on his hand betrayed the lie in that thought. It was clear what she had done. The only question was, why?

But the answer was on the other end of the line, talking in Dean's ear.

"Dean, where are you? What happened? I thought—I thought I saw you—you found me."

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes, remembering that moment as if the knife had been plunged into his own back. "Yeah, we found you."

"Then what happened? I thought-" There was a hiss of pain. "No, I know I got stabbed. Next thing I know I wake up here, alone. At least my phone is working now. But where did you guys go? Jessica's hair clip is still here."

"Jessica." Dean looked down at Jessica's still figure, and pulled her eyelids closed. His mouth wanted to work, but he wasn't sure what to say.

 _Not like this. It wasn't supposed to happen like this_.

"Dean?" Sam's tone was suddenly colored with worry. "Dean, what happened?"

Dean paused, trying to keep his tone level. This wasn't news he could give over the phone. "You stay where you are, Sammy. I'll explain when I get there."

 **What will Sam do when he finds out? How will Dean tell him? Please review!**


	14. Devil's Gate

**At the Devil's Gate**

Sam was waiting on the porch when the Impala pulled in. He could see Dean in the driver's seat, could see the grim look on his face and the tense set of his shoulders even from here. For a moment Dean paused, staring through the windshield at his brother. Something was very wrong. Sam had known it the moment he heard his brother's voice over the phone, but now he was sure.

"Dean?" Sam stepped toward the porch steps and Dean hastily scrambled out of the car, coming to meet him the drive. Making himself a wall between Sam and the Impala. Sam looked over his brother's shoulder. "Where's Jess? Where's Bobby?"

Dean just stepped forward and hugged Sam tighter than Sam could ever remember being hugged. His brother's strong arms squeezed him tight, making it hard to draw breath. A sharp pain cut through Sam's back, and he hissed.

"Ow!"

Dean pulled back immediately, but didn't let go. "You alright Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I just—what happened, Dean?"

"What do you remember?"

"I saw you, Jessica, and Bobby. You were coming toward me, and there this was this sharp pain and—I guess I blacked out." Sam pressed his hand to his back. He didn't feel a bandage or any stitches, but he could have sworn that Jake-

"That guy stabbed you in the back," Dean said. "He stabbed you in the back and then he took off running. Bobby couldn't catch him and you-" Dean's voice caught.

"I what?"

Dean's gaze shifted away from his brother and his grip on Sam's shoulder tightened. "You died, Sammy. You were gone. Cold. Bobby was trying to get me to bury you and-"

"What?" Sam looked over his shoulder again, but of course he could not see the wound. Or the space where the wound had been. "Dean, if I died, how could I be standing here talking to you?"

Now Dean looked at him again, his expression wrecked. "I didn't know what she had planned, Sam, I swear I didn't. She tased me and when I woke up it was over."

"Dean?" Sam could feel the fear rising in him, his stomach twisting with the knowledge that of the few things that could bring back the dead, none came without a price.

Dean turned and went to the car, opening the back door. He reached in and pulled out a body, carefully wrapped in his leather jacket, the old one that used to belong to Dad. The one Dean hadn't taken off since their dad died. Jessica's hair spilled across his arms, her head hanging backward and an impossible angle. Black blood was spattered across her face, dark and drying.

"No!" Sam stepped backwards, away from the sight. "How could you? You were supposed to take care of her! You promised me that if anything ever happened to me-"

"She had a taser, Sam. She snuck up behind me—it hurt like hell—I've got a bump on my head—and when I could move again it was over."

"How?"

"Hellhounds. She made a crossroads deal."

"With a crossroads deal you're supposed to get ten years!"

"Looks like she got the same deal Dad got."

"No. She can't—why would she-" Sam looked up, sideways, down at his toes, anywhere but the dead body in Dean's arms. _This can't be happening_. "No!"

"Sammy." Dean's tone was pleading. Sam shook his head again, and he could feel the tears spilling down his face. He could hear Dean moving, setting the body, down, stepping closer to his brother. "Sammy, I'm sorry. She's gone." This time Dean's tone was stern, gentle but firm.

Sam sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward. He lowered himself to his knees and threaded his fingers through hers. Her skin was still warm, still soft and flexible. She hadn't even been dead an hour. Sam pressed his palm into hers, but there was no response, no reassuring squeeze met his.

She was gone.

o0o

Bobby Singer was not a man who was squeamish about a dead body. He had burned and buried enough of them that the sight of blood, guts, staring eyes, and cold skin were as commonplace to him as a car engine. One was his day job, the other was his night job, and both were just the job. Even when he had to bury friends, fellow hunters who had stood by him in the fight, a dead body was just that; a heap of flesh and bone that had to be purified lest another fitful spirit linger to wreak havoc.

The body that lay on the couch should have been no different, but its presence haunted him. Her presence. The girl who had burned and survived, the girl who had decided to stay in the hunting life not for revenge, but for love.

Maybe, it was because she reminded him of Karen, the wife Bobby had lost long ago and the first monster he had ever faced. Watching Sam and Jessica together, he had felt a surge of homesickness for those days when he was happy and oblivious. Watching Sam clean Jessica's tattered body, he felt the old sting of loss well up again.

There was more than one ghost left in this house, and no amount of salt could chase them away.

Looking at Dean, Bobby could still see John Winchester's ghost haunting the young man's expression. Even though the man had been gone for nearly a year now, Dean still lived in his father's shadow. Was still determined to carry out John's orders.

Save Sam at all costs. Even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Except this time the sacrifice hadn't been Dean, it had been someone else. Still, Bobby was more comfortable with the self-punishing guilt written across Dean's face than he had been with the reckless look in the young man's eye as he stood vigil beside Sam's cold body.

Jessica may have made the deal, but Bobby was pretty sure she'd gotten the idea from someone else. He mentally cursed himself for ever leaving that cabin at all without seeing the corpse properly salted and burned first. There wasn't anything to do about it, though, except try to keep the boys alive as they threw themselves into the job they both had agreed could not wait any longer.

The Yellow-Eyed Demon had to die.

o0o

Sam was surrounded by death. It had stalked him ever since he was six months old because of a demon's sick and twisted game. It was fitting that it would all end here, in a cowboy cemetery, surrounded by the dead. Sam crouched behind a headstone, waiting for Jake to arrive.

He didn't disappoint them. The young solider strode into the cemetery without looking to the left or the right. He wasn't expecting anyone else to be here. Sam saw Dean's small nod from across the way, and they all slid out of their hiding places in sync with Bobby and Ellen.

"Stop it right there!" Dean growled.

Jake turned to face the intruders, eyes widening at the sight of Sam. "I killed you."

Sam felt the words stab at his heard. _Only because I was too stupid to use my powers. The powers Jessica wanted me to use_. He had held back, he had let Jake live.

Never again.

"Yeah. You did. But I came back. What, you haven't learned the trick yet?"

"Hands in the air!" Dean snapped at Jake. "Whatever you're here to do, it's not gonna happen."

"Nuh-uh. I won that fight. I got a job to do." Jake turned his gaze to Ellen. Her had shook as it turned her own gun to point at her own forehead.

"Ellen!" Dean cried. He and Bobby both lurched toward Jake, who just tut-tutted.

"Uh-uh. You want her to blow her own head off? You all just wait there now."

Sam lowered his gun and closed his eyes, throwing all of his focus to the pull of the power that had been lurking on the edge of this thoughts for so long. It was still there, just like when he had moved the cabinet at Max's, just like when he had overridden Andy's twin brother's control over Dean. " _Put it down._ "

Jake cocked his head at Sam. "That's not gonna work on me." He held up the Colt and turned toward the set of doors inscribed with the five-pointed star.

It might not work on Jake, but it didn't need to, either.

Ellen let out a sigh of relief as her gun landed in the grass. Bobby wrapped her up in a big bear hug, so she would not be able to reclaim it, and nodded at Sam and Dean. Sam didn't need to wait for Bobby's permission. As soon as Ellen was free, he took aim and shot. Jake's body jerked as the bullets hit his shoulder and his back. The Colt fell from his hands. Sam shot again and again, even though Jake was on the ground now. The soldier was not getting up again without demonic intervention. Sam stood over him for a moment more.

If only he had killed Jake when he had the chance at Cold Oak, Jessica would still be alive now.

Dean stepped over the body and stared at the doors and their jumble of symbols and protective sigils. His hand traced over the shape of the five-pointed star and the indentation in the middle. "What do you think this is for? This building isn't a mausoleum."

Sam bent down to pick up the Colt and held the gun up to the star. "It looks like it would fit right in there."

"Samuel Colt made that gun, and he built the track around the cemetery. How much you wanna bet he built those doors, too?" Bobby said.

"Doors to where?" Ellen asked.

"Hell." Dean sounded like he was half asking a question. "Don't you think? All these wards, they're not to keep something out, they're to keep something it. The Colt's the key to the lock and the lock is a doorway to Hell. Yellow-eyes was trying to set something loose." He looked back over his shoulder at Jake's corpse. "No way of telling what's in there."

"Hell." Sam looked at the doors, then at the gun in his hand. "It's a doorway to Hell." Jessica was in Hell. That was what happened when a person sold their soul. When they died, they didn't get a chance at heaven. The hounds dragged them down to the pit.

"Sammy?" Dean's posture had shifted and he looked warily at his brother. "You're not thinking-"

"That's where she is, Dean. She downs there suffering, and she shouldn't be. Of all of the people in the world, Jessica doesn't belong—I can't let her stay there."

"Hey!" Dean put his hand on the Colt. "Sammy, you can't-"

Sam turned to his brother, and the rush of power burst out of him without any conscious thought. It dragged Dean backwards, pinning him to a headstone. "No, Dean. I have to."

"Sam-" Bobby was behind him, but seemed to know better than to come too close. "Sam, I know you're hurting, but this is not the way-"

"This is the only way!" Sam looked at the Colt and nodded. If there was the slightest chance, he had to take it. "If the doorway can let something out, then it can let something in. If I can find her, maybe there's a way to save her."

"Sam, don't do this!" Dean cried, straining against the invisible power that pinned him to the headstone.

Sam turned way from his brother and closed his ears to Bobby's protests. He lifted the gun and set the barrel in the key-hole at the center of the five point star. Bobby and Ellen rushed at him, but he stopped with a wave of his hand. Ava had been right. It was easy once you let yourself embrace the power.

The star spun, the gears of the old locking mechanism groaned and clicked, and then the doors slowly swung open.

The blast of power that rushed out of the open doorway tossed Sam on his butt. He landed on his back, staring up at the sky as a cloud of demons roared over him. Spirits followed, the ghostly outlines of the dead running for all they were worth to escape the fires that burned on the other side of that doorway. Sam could feel the heat on his skin, could smell the familiar stink of sulfur, could hear the screams of the damned.

"Sam!" Her voice was a faint whisper among many.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was strained, desperate, pleading. "Sam!"

Sam climbed to his feet and looked at his brother one last time. "I have to get her out." Without looking back, he plunged through the open doorway.

o0o

"Sam!" Dean fought with every ounce of strength he had against the invisible bonds that kept him pinned in place. This was not happening. This could not be happening. He'd gotten Sam back. Sam was alive. Sam was safe. They would deal with Jessica's loss and move on.

But Sam was gone. Dean gasped as the invisible for released him in the same moment that his brother vanished into the swirling light that filled the doorway. The doorway to Hell. Spirits raced past him—Dean could feel the cold that they left in the air. Demons swirled over head, a black storm cloud headed who-knows-where.

Dean didn't see any of it. He raced toward the doorway where his brother had vanished, intent on following Sam.

A rough pair of hands caught him. "Are you out of your mind? What do you think you're doin'?" Bobby hollered over the howl of the storm.

"Sammy-"

"He's gone." Bobby shook Dean by the shoulders, trying to wrestle some sense into the young hunter. "That's a doorway to Hell! No one can survive down there."

Ellen was pushing against the door, every muscle straining with effort. "We have to shut it! Before more evil is set loose!"

"No!" Dean shoved Bobby away from him as the door inched closed under Ellen's hands. Could he find way to save Sam? Or was he just going to make sure that Sam didn't spend eternity being tortured alone. Did it matter? "He's my brother."

Was that a tear in Bobby's eye? No. It couldn't be. Dean had never seen the other hunter cry. "Dean! You don't have to do this!"

Dean just gripped Bobby's shoulder tight, grateful that the older man had cared enough to try. Then he stepped toward the open doorway. A chill settled into his bones, despite the glow of fires below. It was a burning cold, scalding his skin the closer he got. Warning him to stay back.

Ellen was still pushing at the door, and Bobby had joined her.

Dean looked up at the sky one last time. Some people thought there was a heaven up there, every bit as wonderful as hell was horrible. Dean had always assumed that the idea of heaven was just wishful thinking. He didn't believe in anything better up above. He didn't believe in an all-powerful being who cared enough to help them.

But as he stepped into hell to save his brother, or else make sure that he didn't have to face an eternity of fire alone, Dean couldn't help but send a desperate hope heavenward.

 _Help us. Please._

o0o

Heaven was normally a quiet place. One day passed pretty much like the next. New souls came and were safely tucked away in their happiest memories. Angels guarded the gates, although there were no threats to guard against. Demons roamed the earth, but angles didn't care about that. Long gone were the days when they involved themselves with the affairs of men. The occasional prayer would be answered, but mostly the angels were content to remain above it all, undisturbed, waiting for a word from their father. Waiting to be told what else to do.

Castiel was no different. He trained with his brothers and sisters in the garrison. He took his turn every Thursday at his assigned guard post. He was content to continue this way, not worrying about what happened below. He could hear the prayers of mortal humans below, but it was not his job to answer them. Not anymore.

Until one day, a voice rang out in his head, louder than the rest. A simple, desperate cry.

 _Help us. Please._

The voice made Castiel pause as he was sharpening his sword. He looked up at Uriel, but the other angel gave no sign that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary. Castiel turned his attention back to his sword, but the voice would not let go. The prayer repeated in an endless loop, although the words had only been spoken once.

 _Help us. Please. Help us. Please. Help us. Please_.

Every angel knew that a prayer like that was on that needed an answer. It was how angels sorted out the endless chatter came from the billions of faithful human souls on earth. Most prayers blended together like radio static. When one voice rose above the rest, that was a voice the angel who heard it was meant to answer.

Castiel put away his sword and rose to his feet. The garrison would not like him leaving his post, but they would understand. The prayer was a summons, and Castiel had a duty to answer.

A small figure met him at the gateway to heaven. North America had been his territory for over two centuries. In all that time, he had never seen a small, bearded man among the angels of his garrison.

But then, this was no angel. No, this was something else. Something older and more powerful. Castiel felt a tug at his memory, as if he should recognize this strange being who clothed himself like a human.

The stranger gave Castiel a nervous smile.

"Dean Winchester has called. I have to admit I wasn't expecting it. But I did promise myself that if he ever prayed—there would be an answer."

"The voice, it's not coming from earth."

The stranger shook his head. "No. But I think you can handle it." He gave Castiel a brief smile and then was gone.

Dean Winchester. Castiel had never heard the name before and did not know why it was special, but then he had not been taught to ask questions, only follow orders. Castiel spread his wings and dived down, down, down through the stars, through the earth, and into the flames of hell.

 **Will Cas be able to help Sam, Dean, and Jess? What happens when a human enters Hell? Bobby's been left behind, but the yellow eyed demon still isn't dead.**

 **Please review!**


End file.
